Under the Influence
by TheClayrSawMe
Summary: Harry is out of sorts, and it provides an opportunity Draco didn't even know he needed. HPDM, Post War/'Eighth' Year.
1. Chapter 1

**Under the Influence**

**Summary: Harry is out of sorts, and it provides an opportunity Draco didn't even know he needed. HPDM, Post War/'Eighth' Year.**

_Author: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters therein. This fan-fiction is heavy on dialogue, that being my preferred method for the relationship to develop, so the romance is slow building. This fic is both un-beta'd and written from a mildly rusty memory of the books so my apologies for any mistakes made :)_

_Please review, constructive criticism is welcomed!_

* * *

_Chapter One - Imbibe_

Harry felt good about this test. Really, really good about it. After all, he was not exactly out of practice in his knowledge about concealment spells, was he? And distraction hexes, well, he won't even bother going over that. Easy.

Maybe he hadn't done a great amount of revision, and maybe Hermione was a little bit justified in saying that he was lazy with this Defence work this year, but she was as jaded as he was, he knew it. They couldn't have spent such a large part of their last year as they did, flitting from one place to another in that stupid tent to avoid getting murdered in their sleep, without learning something. It was going to be fine, really. Better than fine. Brilliant. This stuff was so old hat to him he could do it in his sleep.

Anyway, what?

Oh, lesson. The test was going to be so easy, Harry could just feel it. He was practically tingling with it. Actually, he was tingling. That's funny. He must be so confident he was actually vibrating with it. Now, that's confidence. It was going to be great, just great.

Where did his bag go?

* * *

'Harry's acting a bit weird this morning,' Ron muttered conspiratorially to Hermione, a slice of toast held in front of his mouth as if to shield his words from Harry.

Harry didn't notice. He was gazing tiredly yet determinedly at the orange juice pitcher, smiling mindlessly at it. It was close enough to him to make him go a bit crossed eyed as he stared it down.

All in all, not an unusual picture of a teenage boy at breakfast time.

Hermione thought that herself. 'He's fine, Ronald. Honestly, you wait until now to evaluate Harry's mental state.' She rolled her eyes, and nibbled at her own toast. Still, she did peer at Harry a bit, just to check. Not that Ron had a point, of course. It just didn't hurt to make sure.

Harry sat obliviously. The staring at the pitcher continued long enough that Hermione began to feel uncomfortable in sympathy for it, and she reached over to pat him gently on the hand. 'Are you ready for Defence, then? I do hope you haven't forgotten.'

Harry's gaze lifted slowly to her face, and he gave her a beatific and slightly concussed looking smile. Hermione's skin crawled a little. 'Um, good. I did tell you you should have gone over the reading with me on Wednesday, it'll be your own fault if you fail.' She turned her nose up a bit. Honestly, final year of NEWTs and neither of them took her up on her offers. She was trying to help them, and it was really their own faults if they didn't do well.

Harry's smile grew and he chuckled. 'I'll be fine, Hermione. I'll do great.'

'Erm, okay, mate,' Ron moved to stand, leaning over to pick up more toast from a plate further down the table. He stuffed the slices into his robe pocket and smiled sheepishly at his friend. ' I hope that's you and me both. We should go, gunna be late.'

* * *

Ron eventually had to herd Harry into his seat in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, because Harry seemed to be too busy animatedly talking about how great his day was going to be to really bother much with navigating himself around fellow students, and at times even walls. At that point, even Ron was getting suspicious, but they'd both had a lot of late nights recently and he could hardly blame him from wanting to let go a bit.

The last year they'd been at Hogwarts Harry had nearly burst a vein worrying about everything, and obviously the war didn't really help anyone's nerves in the long run, Ron surmised.

And not everybody faced down a crazy Dark Lord, so maybe Harry just needed to relax a bit. Yeah, Hermione went on about the exams like they were happening next weekend, but the poor git deserved some time to breathe. They'd all been to hell and back, and nobody had done quite like Harry had.

Anyway, Ron needed someone around him to relax a little. Hermione was going to put herself in the Infirmary soon with how worked up she was about NEWTs, and to be honest, Ron was struggling to be around other friends much at the moment, since they reminded him of the battle; especially Neville, with his new scars and heroic persona. And, well, the battle was a bit of a sore subject. He and Ginny hadn't talked much.

* * *

Harry hadn't felt this good about something in ages. Months, really. He'd felt pretty good when he'd got back in their old dorms but that didn't even _compare._ He was going to do so well in his tests this term they'd have a whole new points counter just for him. He was writing things down so fast his hand was practically blurring across the parchment. Even the inkblots were forming beautiful patterns, instead of getting all over his shirt and tie like usual.

Ron kept giving him looks, like he was worried, but Harry guessed he was just put out that Harry was going to do so much better than him in the test. Other classmates were giving him looks too, and Harry guessed his confidence must just be coming off him in waves, like an aura.

Yes, he was going to do brilliantly in this.

'Mate, what the hell happened?' Ron pulled Harry aside after the class, moving them into a quiet corner away from the main corridor.

Harry looked dazed and distant, and gazed contentedly at the painting behind Ron before he met his eyes.

'I don't know, Ron. I think it's just clicked. Don't worry, I'll help you out so you pass too,' Harry reached out to pat him gently on the shoulder, and missed the first two tries. He then lifted his hand to wave gently at the man in the portrait behind Ron's head. The painted man just gave him a look. Harry shrugged.

Ron just stared at him in bemusement, until Harry started to wander aimlessly away down the corridor in the opposite direction to where they should be going.

'No, really, Harry. Are you alright? I know you don't really like the new Defence Professor, but... Harry?'

'Yes, Ron?' Harry turned and gave him a wide smile, and Ron felt a bit sick. Something must be wrong, because that was beyond off. He'd just watched his friend scribble nonsense words and doodles down on his test parchment for two full hours, and he could just about let that go, and think maybe Harry was stressed or throwing the test in protest or something. But that smile was just creepy and off, and it made Ron's skin itch to look at it.

'Mate, I think we need to get you to Madame Pomfrey,' Ron moved towards him slowly, like he was approaching a unicorn foal, and reached to take him gently by the elbow. Harry jerked back violently and glowered at him.

'Ron, I said I'd help you. You don't need to pretend I'm ill just because you're embarrassed.'

'Mate, I'm not. I think maybe you've been hexed or something.'

Harry lowered his head and gave him a look of amused pity from below his eyebrows. 'Really, Ron. You know, you could talk to Hermione if you're embarrassed about how good I am.'

'Erm, sure, Harry,' Ron tried to think on his feet, because Harry had begun to move quite quickly away in the opposite direction. Being a git or not, Ron really shouldn't let him wander off through the castle behaving that way. Harry had been a lot of things in the time Ron knew him, but he'd never been proud and conceited like this, and if it was enough to make him uncomfortable he didn't think it would be long before Harry got punched in the face. 'Maybe we should go and see Hermione together?'

Harry swung around to face him, head still tilted at an awkward and entirely creepy angle with his chin high in the air, like he was possessed by the spirit of Malfoy on a particularly bad day. 'Yeah, Ron. Good idea. She'll want to know how well I did...'

Ron sighed in relief when Harry began to amble in the right direction, past him and towards the stairs. He had no idea what this was, but he'd bet his Christmas dinner that Hermione would know.

* * *

'I'm sorry, Ron, I really don't know,' Hermione looked harrowed and was tugging on her hair in worry. Ron knew she had a lot invested in this year being as boring as possible; the first one of its kind. He felt almost as bad about being the harbinger of bad news than he did about the state Harry was in in the first place.

Harry himself was sat between them in their little huddle in the corner of the study area in the library, chatting quietly away to himself about how simple and below him the spells were in the textbook Hermione had gently presented to him to keep him busy. 'We really need to get him to Madame Pomfrey, I don't really know enough diagnostic spells and if it's a hex I've never heard of one that does this,' she mumbled, gesturing weakly at Harry.

'Here was me thinking this year the poor git would get a break,' Ron sighed, and a cloud of dust drifted up from the tome Hermione had handed him with an air of authority from one of the high up shelves of the library. The three of them coughed.

'Yes, I thought maybe we'd get a bit of a break too,' Hermione stared angrily down her nose at her book. Ron shuddered a little; a few decades and a pair of pince-nez and he'd be dating McGonagall.

Harry looked up, and saw them both buried in their respective research tasks. He was bored, and he kind of needed the loo. He was sure they would be able to manage this pointless project of theirs without his input, because they didn't seem to be listening to anything he said anyway. Harry felt it was probably time to invest his interest in something more entertaining, so he gently pulled his chair back and wandered quietly away.

* * *

Draco had created a sort of book fort at the end of the Ancient Potions section of the library, and he was quite proud of his achievement.

He didn't really need to invest in such a constructive effort in order to preserve peace and privacy – although the section was usually quite popular, being on the side of the building with the windows and far back in the library enough that Madame Pince didn't often bother visiting, whenever his fellow students happened upon him they invariably turned on their heels and hurried away again. The wall of books was less of a defence, more of a visual shield, so he didn't have to see their faces twist in contempt every time.

He was, therefore, more than a bit angry when Potter appeared from nowhere and seemingly intentionally caused a disturbance in Draco's carefully formed structure, resulting in a noisy and slightly painful cascade over him and his previously neat and splatter-free Runes homework.

'Fuck! Potter, there's ink bloody everywhere!'

Harry waved his hand in a dismissive manner and groped for his wand. 'Don't worry, I'm brilliant at cleaning spells.'

'Don't bother,' Draco winced as the cold ink seeped through his trousers and he waved his wand over his legs with a muttered _scourgify, _dabbing with his robe sleeve for good measure. 'What do you think you're doing, you fuckwit?'

'Do you need any help?' Harry's voice was eerily like Luna's floaty tone as he moved to sit next to Draco and look imploringly in his face. Draco sat motionless and stunned, and his jaw fell slack. 'You should let me help you, I'm probably better than you at Runes.'

'You don't even take Runes, Scarhead.'

'I'm sure I'll pick it up quickly,' Harry's hand fluttered dismissively over his shoulder. Draco stared incredulously at him, and moved one hand to possessively cover his work.

'Potter, have you taken something?'

Harry frowned in confusion. 'I don't have to have taken something to be good at something. Why does everyone keep asking that?' He looked up, doe eyed. Draco sniggered, part humour and partly because of the completely bizarre situation he'd found himself in.

'And her Majesty and the Weasel have let you loose on the castle population, have they? Must be too distracted groping each other in a broom cupboard.'

'No, they're over there working. I don't think they're very good at the groping thing.' Harry stared off at the shelf behind them in the direction of the study tables, and frowned.

'And I suppose you're much better at it.'

'Of course.' Harry gave him an amused, unwavering stare, for long enough that Draco began to squirm in his seat at the ferocity of it.

'Er... What exactly did you take, Potty? A potion?' At least they were in a good section to research it, Draco thought, and reverse it. Cocky Potter was really beginning to unsettle him.

'Nothing, I didn't take anything at all. I'm just having a good day,' Harry muttered, as he picked up a battered book and squinted at the title. He then squinted at Draco. 'Why?'

'Oh, no reason...' Draco looked rather desperately around for help, or someone to dump this weird situation on, but it seemed that his power of repulsion was greater than the pull of hero worship Potter may have created. 'Shit.'

'What?' Potter gave him a suspicious look.

'Nothing.' Draco sighed. Well, if he was going to have to be the babysitter for Boy Wonder, he might as well get something from it. 'Well, Chosen Git. Since you're so clever, what are the five points you're writing about in the lycanthropy essay?'

Draco watched, surprised then amused, as Harry animatedly began to describe just exactly how he was planning the essay. Unfortunately, after the first sentence the account descended quite rapidly into indecipherable gibberish, with Harry smiling with accomplishment the entire time. Draco almost felt bad for him, because it was obvious something was wrong, and Draco thought he might know what. But it was just too funny to watch.

He'd return the stupid git to his minders soon, maybe with a note pinned to his robe to tell them what Potter was being affected by. But maybe he'd have a bit more fun with it first.

* * *

Draco soon discovered there was no law of diminishing returns when it came to the state Potter was clearly in. As time passed, it just got more amusing, and a strangely welcome experience – definitely a change from the clipped exchanges in his own House every day, and the glares he got when he walked from class to class, which came so often he hardly bothered sneering back any more. He might give himself wrinkles.

Potter with his guard down was fun, dare he even think it, and he even let himself be dragged from the Library to Merlin knows where by the muttering maniac.

They passed by right under the noses of the other two thirds of the wondrous trio, who were arguing over a textbook and blissfully unaware. How pathetic of them, Draco thought. Couldn't keep tabs on drugged up Potter for longer than five minutes.

Potter wasn't even trying to be sneaky. 'Told you they weren't in the cupboard,' he said, as he threw a lopsided smirk over his shoulder and dragged Draco by the wrist through the door. This was getting increasingly bizarre; the other students they passed seemed to agree, if the stunned and slightly nauseous looks on their faces were anything to judge by. Draco didn't know whether to grimace dramatically back or wave like one of the Weird Sisters band members. After all, it wasn't often you were personally escorted by the Boy Who Lived in front of an audience.

'Where are we even going, Potter? If you're planning on ravishing me, it's considered polite to warn a man.'

Potter laughed, and Draco was momentarily stunned by how genuine it sounded.

'I'll remember that. Are flowers okay?'

Draco laughed his own genuine laugh, which surprised the students they were passing as much as it did himself. Then again, recently people weren't laughing a lot, and he had as much a reason as any – even Potter – to be muted and joyless. The thought encouraged Draco to collect himself and he tried to release his wrist from Potter's grasp, which turned out to be an impossible task.

'Ow. Wait, Potter. Where exactly am I being taken?' Draco asked as he used his weight to counteract Potter's momentum and pull him across to lean against the corridor wall.

'The broom cupboard,' Potter released his arm and glided in a wonky circle – Luna style again – while Draco gaped at the back of his head. He then let out a sigh of relief as he caught sight of Potter's goofy grin as he ambled aimlessly around the thankfully now empty corridor; Draco's ability to repulse and deter onlookers must have worked to his advantage yet again. 'That's a strange face you're making.' Potter's grin grew wider.

Draco's jaw snapped shut and he lifted his chin in show contempt. 'Not my fault you were raised so poorly, Pothead. Honestly, the indecency.' Potter sniggered. Then headed off quickly down the corridor.

Draco sighed, left alone at his spot against the wall. 'I'll only follow if you promise my virtue will be safe!' He called out to Potter's retreating figure, about to turn a corner and possibly get himself killed. There was no reply other than a frantic beckoning gesture over Potter's head. Draco sighed again, pushed himself off the wall, and followed.

* * *

'I can't believe you lost him, Ron!'

'Me? You – ah.' Ron's voice faded to nothing as he caught sight of Hermione's expression. Scary didn't cover it. 'Um, he can't have gone far...'

'Oh, Merlin! And we didn't even know what spell he was under,' Hermione moaned, and tugged at her curls in frustration. 'He could be anywhere! Oh, no...'

Ron shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot as she paced in front of the library doors, which they'd burst dramatically through a few minutes prior after a frantic search of every section, under every desk and even peering up to the top of the bookshelves. Harry could be unpredictable even under normal circumstances.

Ron suddenly had an idea, swerved to face Hermione and groaned in pain when they smacked into each other.

'Maybe -'

'Quidditch?'

'Yes!'

* * *

'Potter, I'm not entirely sure this is a good idea,' Draco said as they stood next to the uncovered wood structure of the Quidditch pitch.

'Why? Scared?' Potter grinned as fiddled with his ridiculous spectacles.

'Of course not,' Draco bristled, then caught himself. Being competitive at a time like this was ridiculous. 'For one, it's raining. A lot.'

'Pfff, that's nothing,' Potter squelched over to the broom store cupboard. 'Standard Cleansweeps, keep it fair?'

'Yeah, makes sense – wait – No! For another reason, you are obviously under a hex, though it seems to have escaped your notice.'

'Stop making daft excuses because you're scared you'll lose, Malfoy. I'm definitely not under a hex,' Harry snorted, stomped over to hand Draco a broom then tripped over the broom bristles and into the mud.

'No, I'm pretty certain I'm right,' Draco chuckled as he lifted Potter back to his feet, now decoratively spattered with dirt and water. 'In fact, I think I might know which one.'

Potter looked up at him – at some point in the past few years Draco had grown ever so slightly taller, thank Salazar for small victories – and rolled his eyes. Draco's stomach flipped a little.

'Harry!'

They both turned to see Weasley and Granger trudge awkwardly over at the greatest speed it seemed they could manage in the pouring rain.

'Brilliant,' muttered Potter, and Draco looked at him in surprise. Seeing Potter not being elated to see his partners in glory was a pretty novel thing.

'Malfoy, leave Harry alone!' Granger had finally reached them, and tried to insert herself between Draco and Potter. Potter pulled her gently aside. Draco was grateful; touching her himself would have probably been a war crime.

'I'll have you know, Scarhead was the one who kidnapped me,' he pronounced airily, pointing a mockingly accusing figure at Potter, who smirked in response.

'How dare you -' Weasley moved sharply towards him, in what he guessed was supposed to be a threatening manner. It was spoiled by Weasley falling on his face into the mud a moment later.

'Careful, Weasel. It's slippery.' Potter snorted at his jibe, and Draco inwardly preened.

'Ron, stop – Calm down. Look, Malfoy, we don't know why you're with Harry but you've obviously been taking advantage of him,' Draco gave Granger credit to the fact her angry hiss was indeed quite scary. 'He's been behaving strangely since this morning. Did you curse him?'

'Funnily enough, no,' Draco made a show of looking at her drawn wand with contempt. 'But I have noticed the change. A curse, you say? Have you by any chance worked out which?' Granger's eyes narrowed in anger but she huffed in frustration.

'No. But I'm sure -'

'I didn't think so,' Draco smirked at her flustered expression. 'Would you like a hint?'

Potter actually growled in anger. 'I'm not under a curse! Why is it so unbelievable that I'm brilliant at everything?' He stomped towards Granger, and promptly met the floor again with a squelch.

'Graceful,' Draco sniggered. 'Hint, Granger?'

'Fine! What is it?'

Draco sighed dramatically and bent to aid Potter in his repeated and failed attempts to stand again.

'He seems grossly over confident, yes? But there's nothing to back it up. And he's a bit dazed. Reminds me rather a lot of Seamus Finnegan the Christmas someone gave the idiot some fire whiskey.'

'It's not a Drunkenness charm, I checked. He would be vomiting and slurring. Anyway, that's not taught at Hogwarts, and you can only find it in restricted textbooks.' Granger shoved her chin upwards in contempt, an accidental imitation of Draco himself that Potter laughed quietly at from his position of being supported by Weasley, dripping mud and looking slightly dazed.

'Indeed. But a student attempting an advanced spell may perform it incorrectly, mightn't they? Perhaps so the spell only partly works?'

'I suppose... so.' Granger looked furious. Not good; she might be absolutely awful at outside the box thinking, but there was certainly a number of spells she knew to cast correctly that might make Draco more than a bit uncomfortable. He attempted to tone down his smug expression but ended up just looking constipated. Potter sniggered again.

'You're right that it's difficult to research, though,' Draco mused. But both he and Granger had heard of it – she probably even knew how to cast it. And it was well known that she was granted access to materials that were off limits to most of the castle's students. An Order of Merlin certainly does open useful doors.

But Draco knew of it from taking advantage of the lax attention his new Head of House gave to such permission slips, provided they were for members of his own house – upon trying to find employment as an ex-Death Eater, a large and varied education would be his only virtue - and he knew he wasn't the only one who did so.

Damn. Of course, it was a Slytherin. They couldn't possibly let Ravenclaw have a go at being the bad guys for once.

'The problem here being that even if we know what it is, Potty here refuses to go to the Infirmary. I tried levitation and a body-lock, and just pulling on him at one point, but drunk or not, he's an evasive bastard. I dare say you're going to have to wait it out,' Draco moved to replace the brooms. 'Could take ages. Good job it's the weekend.'

'We haven't had our match yet!' Potter pulled away from Weasley and moved to snatch one of the Cleansweeps from Draco. 'Running away because you'll lose?'

Draco smiled, but he felt suddenly tired. This babysitting job had been fun until the parents had shown up. It was necessary for his own safety and ease of life to withhold the insults he wanted to snap at them, but it was a wearying task.

'I'll tell you what, Scarhead. I'll give you your match tomorrow morning if you go to Pomfrey and prove you haven't taken performance enhancing potions beforehand. After all, you'd have to take them to beat me,' Draco made a show of gesturing proudly at himself and the ratty practice broom.

Potter nodded emphatically. 'Deal!' He thrust out his hand. Draco shook it, smirked at Granger while handing her the broom, waved a sardonic goodbye to Weasley, and loped off down the muddy hill to the castle and some peace and quiet.

* * *

Draco lay awake until early morning, but he wasn't entirely sure what was bothering him. He checked the charms on his bed a number of times. He drank water, stretched, went to the loo, and still couldn't sleep. He kept thinking about the time he'd spent with a spell-addled Potter. He'd actually had fun; Potter had been quick witted and funny, and Draco was so very starved of conversation.

Slytherin was a ghost town, as much as could be expected after the war. The older students were a dark mix of bitterness, fear and loss. Draco wasn't spoken to and he didn't endeavour to speak to others. The sight of Vincent's bed in their dormitory made his chest hurt.

Shame their Quidditch match wasn't actually going to happen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Under the Influence**

**Summary: Harry is out of sorts, and it provides an opportunity Draco didn't even know he needed. HPDM, Post War/'Eighth' Year.**

_Author: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters therein._

* * *

_Chapter Two -Mutual Understanding_

'Come oooon, Harry. We need to get to the Infirmary to get the spell removed– er – I mean, get you potion tested for your match, remember?'

Harry let out a long, low groan into his pillow and lashed out with his foot when Ron pulled at his quilt, almost kicking Ron in the face.

'What potion test?' Neville asked. Harry peered out from his bed to see Neville stretch luxuriously, his t shirt lifting to show his toned stomach. Smug git, Harry thought.

Ron coughed awkwardly. 'Harry needs to go to Pomfrey to get a hex reversed,' he loudly whispered to Neville. Harry rolled his eyes.

'Eh? What hex?'

'Shhhhhhhh!'

'What? Oh.' Neville squinted at Ron as he frantically gestured for him to be quiet, and shuffled off towards the bathroom, obviously deciding the mystery of the hex was too much work for a Saturday morning.

Harry snorted, and stretched himself, making sure his t shirt stayed firmly in place.

'So, Harry? Should we go soon?'

'Ron.' Harry sat up, made a face, and lay down again. 'It's worn off.'

'Oh.' Ron slumped to sit on the corner of his bed and gave him a wide smile. 'That's brilliant news, mate. I was worried Pomfrey was going to have kittens. How do you feel?'

'Headache.' A really, really bad one. Harry felt like his brain was slowly pouring out of his ears.

'Hermione said that might happen – you know, it would act more like a normal hangover. Do you remember much?'

'Not sure. Did I drag Malfoy halfway around the castle while telling him how brilliant I am?'

'Erm. Seems like it, mate. Sorry.'

* * *

Draco used his otherwise mind-numbingly boring breakfast time to do some detective work. Most of the Slytherins of the older years were invariably present for it, even on weekends – the early bird successfully defeats its enemies, or something – and this was a good opportunity to see for himself which of his fellow house mates were eyeing the Gryffindor table with more than their fair share of hatred.

Of course, he didn't care. Potter's safety wasn't his concern, and he had enough protection without Draco contributing his two knuts' worth. It was purely an academic venture.

And after studying each and every face before and after the Golden three's entrance to the hall, his frustration and worry at being no more the wiser was of course entirely understandable from an academic perspective, too. He certainly didn't care about Potter's safety.

* * *

Harry's head hurt. A lot. It hurt when he walked, talked and it even hurt when he breathed. When they found out who cast that ridiculous charm on him he was going to – he didn't even know what he was going to do. It hurt to think about it.

He'd been excused from the research task apparently scheduled by Hermione to take place immediately after breakfast because 'his complaining wasn't a useful skill'. Hermione mustn't have gotten much sleep the previous night. While they were dressing Ron told him she was more than slightly perturbed at being beaten by Malfoy in understanding what spell Harry was affected by. Harry smirked to himself; yes, that was the kind of thing that would keep Hermione up at night.

So, instead of being useful, Harry was abandoned to wander around the castle aimlessly on his own, entirely open to attack, because Hermione's logic wasn't always sound. Of course, she'd prefer he stay in the Common Room and study for exams, but Hermione's grasp on being realistic wasn't great either.

Harry knew he was being unflattering, but his headache made him grumpy and he was more than slightly embarrassed by the way he'd acted the day before. He thought he remembered most of it. Especially the flirting. And falling over.

The best approach, he was certain, was to lie on the slightly damp grass outside, relax, and try not to think about it.

A while later, was grateful when the shadow of someone fell over him, because it was blocking the sun from his eyes. He wasn't grateful for who the shadow belonged to.

'Morning, Scarhead.'

'Graaaaagh.' Harry covered his face with his arm.

Malfoy laughed, and Harry was pleasantly surprised by it not being fake or cruel.

'Did you get fixed?'

'Woke up fixed. Got an awful headache, though.'

'You know, there's these wondrous things called potions for problems like that. Don't tell anyone I told you.'

'I will protect this secret with my life.'

'Don't think there are any potions in the world that can do anything for Weasel's face, though.'

Harry uncovered his face and moved to sit up. 'Well, that didn't last long.'

'That's what Granger said.'

Harry mustered all the power he could into the glare he gave Malfoy, but the comment was so ridiculous that he couldn't help but snort. Malfoy gave him a beatific and innocent smile. 'Going somewhere?'

Harry looked around, and up at the castle. He couldn't think of anywhere else to be. Worse, he actually felt he'd rather stay. He slumped back onto his transfigured blanket and patted the space next to him.

'I'm sure you're desperate to catch me up on yesterday. Wouldn't want to miss that.'

Malfoy elegantly eased himself down onto the blanket, arranging his long limbs as he lay down next to Harry.

'Indeed I am. I learnt so many things about you, Potter. My mind was truly enriched.' Harry turned his head to glare at Malfoy, but saw him gazing innocently at the cloudy sky. 'Is it true you wrestle centaurs for sport?'

Harry winced, and grinned up at the sky despite himself. 'You know, that one is actually true.'

'I had a feeling it was. And you speak seven languages, including Dragon?'

'Only six, I'm afraid.'

'I'm disappointed at being lied to.'

They lay in silence for a long while, until Harry's skin began to itch with discomfort. 'Why did you look after me?'

Malfoy didn't look at him, but Harry saw him grimace. 'It must have been my natural good nature.' Malfoy lifted himself up to stand and moved to leave.

'Wait -'

Malfoy gracefully twisted back to look at him. 'Yes?'

'Are we still on for that match? Tomorrow, when my headache is gone.'

Malfoy looked at him for a long moment. 'Deal. See you at one.' Then he walked away.

Harry watched him, and bit his tongue in frustration.

* * *

Harry's bizarre conversation with Malfoy earlier that day had completely thrown him. Yes, to him, petty rivalries and even being on different sides weren't as important after the war. He could understand Malfoy's motivation as he saw it – Harry's mother lost her life saving him, and he believed had she lived he would have done anything to protect her – and after everything was done, he realised he was more interested in living his life than getting overly involved in other people's.

It was an unkind assumption of his, though, that Malfoy would have been as bitter and jaded after the war as the rest of his Slytherin house-mates. As Harry saw it, he had reason to be. Harry didn't understand why he wasn't.

Lost in his own head – still aching with a throbbing pain – Harry opted out of the evening meal in the Hall, deciding instead to collect an impromptu picnic from the kitchens and wander up to the astronomy tower, checking his map beforehand to make sure he wouldn't be interrupting any of the secret meetings the tower was infamous for. Out of curiosity, Harry checked to see where Malfoy was. Not at dinner. Or the dungeons. Or anywhere else Harry could see.

That left the only option as the Room of Requirement.

Now Harry had a headache _and _a stomach turning sense of deja vu.

* * *

He and Potter had had a moment, out on the castle grounds. An actual, honest to Circe moment. Draco grit his teeth as he aggressively ground snake fangs to a powder in the rather fancy pestle and mortar the Room had provided him.

He shouldn't have to take off his shirt and stare at a mirror every time he received pity from someone, to remind himself that some things just couldn't be forgotten.

The Dark Lord had seen the scars, when he'd been stripped and beaten for letting Potter go that night in the Manor. He'd laughed, and it had echoed like slicing knives in Draco's head.

Potter probably laughed too, when he'd shared the story of their meeting in the bathroom with his friends. After all, they'd mocked him for caring about his appearance for years.

Draco dropped the pestle onto the counter, and winced at the thud. No, Potter probably didn't laugh, he decided. Potter wasn't like that.

But Potter was the one who tried to cut him apart like a loaf of bread! Of course he laughed!

Internal arguments weren't a great step towards preserving his sanity, Draco chastised himself. It doesn't matter if Potter found it funny. He obviously pitied Draco now, otherwise he wouldn't stoop to have a conversation with him. This post-war world was a new world, and in this world Draco was dirt.

All the more reason to continue practising potions, make himself valuable, and stop musing like a Hufflepuff Third year with a crush.

* * *

Harry stood outside the wall where the Room of Requirement was, hidden under his invisibility cloak and entirely unsure how he'd gotten there in the first place. The Astronomy tower was in the opposite direction from the outside of his House than the one he'd taken.

It was also a terrible, awful idea. What had happened to leaving petty rivalries behind? If even managed to get inside, Malfoy was going to think he didn't trust him and thought he was up to something evil, just like in Sixth year.

Did Harry think that? No, he wasn't suspicious of Malfoy. He did what he did to save his own life and those of his parents. Harry didn't think he was fundamentally evil; not like the Riddle he saw in Slughorn's memories. Harry shuddered.

So why was he there? Harry was painfully curious, he had to admit. Before this he'd gotten the impression Malfoy was just going through the paces, and keeping his head down, but he hadn't actually endeavoured to check his whereabouts before now. He hadn't even really thought of Malfoy much, but the charm and the conversation on the grounds had him firmly stuck in his mind.

Draco sighed. He knew Potter knew he was there; he'd been using the room almost non-stop every evening for months previous with no issues. And saviour of the wizarding world or not, Potter was obviously too dim to consider Draco might have asked the room to notify him when there was someone outside. Potter had set off a gentle chime, interrupting Draco at an important point in his brewing and completely ruining his potion.

So, Draco set down his tools, stood and waited for Potter to enter. He'd left the room 'open' enough.

But five minutes passed, and Potter didn't show. Draco huffed in irritation.

Harry didn't know if the Room was open. He hadn't tried to go in. He didn't know if he wanted to.

What if Malfoy was doing something terrible? What if he tried to spell Harry's head off?

What if he was with someone? Harry nearly had a heart attack at this realisation – they could come out any second, he'd look like a pervert – no, wait, calm down. Malfoy wasn't exactly a social character this year, and Harry didn't think he saw him hanging about with many girls. Or boys.

Harry's imagination had just begun to turn to the possibly perverted things Malfoy could be doing alone – a big four poster bed, a bottle of lubricating potion - when he saw the wall crack open and a pale face peer though; he jumped and yelped in surprise, tripping over his cloak and crashing to the floor.

'Evening, Scarhead.'

There was an awkward silence.

'At least, I think it's you. All my eyes perceive is a leg with no owner. The terrible clothes are a good hint, though.'

Harry scrambled to his feet, awkwardly removed the rest of the cloak and coughed. 'Erm, hello.'

Malfoy gave him a long look. 'Come on, then. I suppose I need to prove I'm not performing some evil deed.' He disappeared back through to door, leaving it open.

Harry quickly stumbled after him. 'I wasn't – I didn't think you were doing that.' He gaped at the gleaming potions laboratory inside the room, and attempted to look nonchalant by wandering about, picking up and studying tools and ingredients. 'I didn't think you were as obsessed as Hermione, though.'

Malfoy mock-bristled in anger as he loped back to his counter and ruined potion. 'Please. Granger wishes she'd thought of this.'

Harry laughed, and moved over to peer into the cauldron Malfoy was using. 'Bad news, I think this has gone wrong.'

'In a way entirely unrelated to your timely interruption, too. How coincidental.' Malfoy sighed and vanished the contents with a bold sweep of his wand, or tried to. Instead, the potion let off a foul smelling gas. 'Eugh, fuck. Stupid wand.' He tried again, with more success.

Harry made a guilty face; he knew exactly why Malfoy's wand wasn't working well – although he'd returned it not long after his trial, Hermione had warned him that since Harry himself had claimed it it may not be so faithful to its original owner as it once was. Malfoy caught his expression and gave a sad smile. 'It could be worse, Potter. I could be vomiting slugs.' He moved quickly away to the ingredients store, sniggering at Harry's growl of anger, and climbed the ladder to retrieve fresh supplies of some of the ingredients wasted in his previous attempt.

'What are you brewing?' Harry tried to work it out from the collection of ingredients pots and bottles scattered across the counter; the fact he was none the wiser was undoubtedly bad news for his own Potions NEWT grade. 'Hair potion?'

'Ha ha ha.' Malfoy gracefully slid down the ladder, pockets full of jars. 'Saviour Repellent, actually. There's this particular one that keeps following me around a lot recently.'

'Ah. Tall, dark, handsome?'

'Short, speccy. Annoying.' Malfoy placed each jar on the counter with a 'clink'. 'Don't suppose he's any good at stirring, though?'

'Almost as good as he is at Seeking, I'll have you know.' Harry emphasised rolling up his sleeves in preparation.

'That's a shame.' Malfoy smirked at him, and Harry gave him a rude gesture.

* * *

Somehow, between the petty jibes, one full blown disagreement over method – please, Potter thought he knew better which approach was best for crushing porcupine quills - they managed to successfully brew a passable, if not good, dreamless sleep potion. It wasn't until they were at the end stages when Potter frowned in recognition.

'You're having nightmares?'

'The main purpose of this is practice, so I might avoid a Weasley-esque failure in exams,' Draco quipped, looking down his nose at Potter. 'But since you ask, yes.'

Potter frowned, and actually looked sad for a moment short enough that Draco thought he might have imagined it, but said no more about the subject. In fact, not much more was said at all while Draco carefully poured the potion into three vials, corked them and pocketed them.

They parted with only a gruff goodbye on both counts, but Draco was sure he hadn't imagined the look of worry on Potter's face as he turned his back and stalked away back to the Dungeons.


	3. Chapter 3

**Under the Influence**

**Summary: Harry is out of sorts, and it provides an opportunity Draco didn't even know he needed. HPDM, Post War/'Eighth' Year.**

_Author: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters therein._

* * *

_Chapter Three – Flying Time_

Harry woke up excited, but he wasn't sure why. He knew he had something planned for today but he couldn't remember what – he didn't usually do much on Sunday except maybe spend time with Ron and Hermione and – oh. Oh.

The match.

And he really was excited about it, too. That was embarrassing, and more than a bit weird. Until two days ago he'd barely even looked at Malfoy during the school year. But now, he guessed, Malfoy was symbolic of something he hadn't realised he was lacking; a challenge.

He even made sure to eat properly at breakfast, and caught Malfoy's eye over Ron's head – which was bent to almost touch his plate, to aid accuracy in shovelling scrambled eggs into his mouth – and gave him a friendly smile. Malfoy's responding wink made him flush and drop his toast, then quickly mime shuffling around serving himself food to hide it. He didn't look up again to check if Malfoy had noticed.

Hermione had, though. 'Harry, are you feeling alright?'

'Mff.' Harry swallowed his hasty bite of sausage. 'Erm, yeah, 'Mione. Why?'

'I just thought...' Hermione looked around, gave him a mildly suspicious look, and returned to eating her breakfast.

Ron was entirely oblivious, but also apparently finished with that particular serving of eggs. He reached out to serve himself more. 'So, are we going to Hogsmeade today then?' Hermione hummed in agreement around her slice of toast. Oh dear, Harry thought.

'You two will have to go on without me, I think,' he tried to sound as nonchalant as he could manage as he reached to pour himself a drink. Ron was stunned enough by the answer to dramatically drop the serving spoon he was using, and splatter everyone in his immediately vicinity with scrambled eggs.

'Ron!' Hermione chastised him as she picked bits of egg out of her hair. 'Why aren't you going, Harry? Of course, we all have to work, but I've scheduled a few hours tonight to go over the Potions essay...'

'Hermione, that isn't even due for three weeks.' He smiled at her, but his smile waned when her narrowed eyes told him he wasn't going to get away with dodging the question. 'I was just thinking about doing some Quidditch practice. I haven't flown in ages.'

'Good idea, mate. We'll do that this afternoon after Hogsmeade – I said I'd help George with some rearranging he needs to do in the storeroom.'

'Erm, I can't, mate. I was planning on meeting someone at one-ish.' Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Here it comes.

'Who?' Ron looked genuinely confused. Hermione's eyes just narrowed more, until she was almost squinting.

'Well, I did try force him into a Seeker's game yesterday...'

'WHAT?' Ron's bellow made a few of their surrounding friends jump in alarm. 'Malfoy?' he hissed. 'Mate, he was a Death Eater!'

'But he also looked after Harry quite well yesterday, Ron,' Hermione calmly poured herself more pumpkin juice. At least she was being logical about it, Harry thought. Thank Godric for small mercies.

'But Harry, you can't! He's an evil tosser, you can't even trust him as far as you can throw him!'

'Maybe not.' Harry knew he didn't really have much to say in defence. 'See you after you get back.' He rose to leave, and tried to ignore the curious look from the Slytherin table that caught his eye.

'Have a good time, Harry,' Hermione gave a little wave. 'But do try not to injure your writing hand.'

He smiled at her, and pointedly didn't acknowledge Ron's frustrated expression and angry mumbling. 'I'll try to avoid it.'

* * *

'We seem to have drawn quite the audience, Potter. Spread the word, did you?'

'No!' Harry replied hotly. But maybe... 'Some of my house-mates did see me pick up my kit, though.' He rubbed his neck sheepishly. 'Erm, sorry about that.'

'Quite alright, Potty. The news of your crushing defeat will just spread faster.'

'I think you're confused, Malfoy. Been playing with the bludgers?'

Malfoy sniggered. 'What an awful euphemism.' Harry blushed, and Malfoy laughed more.

Harry coughed. 'Anyway, should we begin?'

Malfoy knelt to open the equipment trunk. 'A minute head start?' Harry nodded, and waved his wand to start a timer as Malfoy released the snitch into the cold breeze on the Quidditch pitch. They both mounted their brooms – Malfoy was now also the proud owner of a Firebolt, Harry was surprised to discover – and watched the numbers count down on his charm.

'Any particular stakes you'd like to add to this endeavour?' Malfoy's tone was light, but his expression serious. Harry stopped to consider the offer.

'Well...' He scuffed his foot on the grass. 'You're pretty good at potions, yeah?' Harry purposefully didn't look him in the eye, and heard Malfoy chuckle.

'Oh, Potter. I'm only the best in the school.'

'That might be pushing it.' Malfoy shot him a mock glare. 'So, if I win, you tutor me on the pre-set brewing tests this term.' Malfoy's eyes widened comically.

'Merlin, Potter, are you asking for help?' Harry just glared at him, and Malfoy grinned back. 'You know, you've caught me feeling altruistic. Deal.'

'Fine,' Harry awkwardly looked anywhere but at Malfoy, and tried to estimate the number of spectators in the stands around the pitch. There were too many to count. 'Wait, what's your side of the bet?'

Malfoy considered his question, tilting his head and looking off across the grass. 'Hmm. Potter, you're pretty good at Defence, yes?'

Harry smirked, and emphasised a shrug. 'Passable.'

'Then, when I win, you give me a few of your wise suggestions on a couple of spells. Deal?'

'Deal.' They shook hands, and Malfoy prepared to take off. 'Wait, which spells – argh!' A loud chime sounded, and with it Malfoy shot full force into the air, almost taking Harry's spectacles with him and leaving him in a cloud of dust. Harry cursed, and pushed off the ground after him.

And suddenly, Harry felt happier than he could remember feeling for years.

* * *

Harry had missed flying so much that he even only barely minded losing.

After a few false sightings and fruitless chases – punctuated by near collisions and aggressive elbowing - he caught sight of Malfoy swooping down in a short, sharp movement that ended too quickly for Harry to get close enough for a fighting chance. The glint of the ageing gold of the school snitch paled in comparison to Malfoy's genuine, beaming grin.

A grin that turned into a smirk as Malfoy flew up beside him and gestured in Harry's face with his prize. Harry snatched it from his grip and span around him in a circle, laughing at his haughty expression. 'There's no need to be a sore loser, Potter,' Malfoy hovered as he nonchalantly smoothed his hair back into position.

'Or a sore winner, either,' Harry gave him a pointed look and spun to face him from an upside down position, holding out the snitch as a peace offering as his spectacles hung precariously from his ears.

'Suits you, Potter. Very mature.' Malfoy took the snitch and shoved it up his sleeve for safekeeping.

Harry responded by releasing his broom with both hands and letting his arms hang below his head, Quidditch cloak flapping in the wind. At Malfoy's unimpressed look he struck some dramatic poses, still upside down and managing to gain a smile in response, until his spectacles fully dislodged and dropped the long distance to the pitch green below. 'Oops.'

'I'll not catch you if you fall. Be warned.'

'You definitely would.' Harry grinned at him as he righted himself.

'I even more surely would not, now.' Harry gave him a sarcastically hurt look, but Malfoy's face remained blank as he looked beyond Harry and at the stadium behind him. Harry moved to turn around and look, but was stalled by a jarring grip on the end of his broom handle. 'Don't,' Malfoy hissed, and Harry looked bemused at the other boy's cold expression.

'Dementors?' Harry tried to joke. In a way, he hoped it was. He could deal with Dementors no problem, something he owed Malfoy himself for, in a way.

'Worse. Slytherins,' Malfoy's eyes darted from behind Harry to look at his completely confused expression. 'Don't be ridiculous, Potter. Of course Slytherins know fellow Slytherins can be a problem.'

'I think 'a problem' might be understating it, in some circumstances,' Harry self consciously rubbed his scar, tightening his grip with his other hand on the broom to keep his balance and fighting the strong urge to turn and see what the big deal was. 'Why are you afraid of your own house-mates?'

'I'm not afraid,' Malfoy spat. He moved to slowly descend to the ground and Harry moved to follow beside him. 'Even you should realise what this looks like.'

'Erm, no?'

They touched ground and Malfoy hastily dismounted to trudge quickly back to the Gryffindor changing room, and Harry recalled having seen a set of robes there before meeting Malfoy on the pitch - which now made a tiny bit of sense to Harry, if Malfoy was trying to avoid his own house. They reached the door and Malfoy darted inside, Harry rushing to stay at his heels.

'For fuck's sake, Potter,' Malfoy wiped a hand across his face and slumped against the wall when they were finally safely ensconced inside the wooden structure. He no longer looked nervous and angry, but it was replaced with weariness. 'I forgot you had the brain of a hippogriff. Look, you know what this is, yes?' Malfoy drawled sarcastically as he tore at his kit sleeve, unstopping buttons and releasing the snitch previously stored there to flutter around the small room.

Harry had to try not to flinch as he saw the Mark revealed, the unsettling black faded slightly as if by exposure to sunlight, and the eyes of the snake lifeless. Beforehand he wouldn't have been able to imagine Malfoy willingly showing the tattoo, and he swallowed dryly as he realised how important he must feel the point being made was. 'Don't be stupid.' Harry felt uncomfortable, and took a step back.

'Well, I know you don't take Arithmancy, but how about this; me, plus the Dark Mark, plus the fucking Chosen Prick who killed the author of said Dark Mark, plus angry wizard supremacist mourners of said author, equals?'

'Oh.' Harry felt heavy, and dropped down unceremoniously to sit on the nearby bench. His stomach churned. He hadn't considered the aftermath of the war on the other side of the line, simply because at some point he decided not to. It was easier to think of now as being the sun after a storm, freed of evil and a process of reclaiming and rebuilding. No retribution involved, full stop. 'Sorry.'

No,' Malfoy moved to sit next to him, and reclined against the age-worn wall behind them. 'No. You didn't realise. But I should have.' He stared at the low ceiling, and Harry looked the Mark again. It was still ugly. 'It's pretty obvious what it looks like I'm doing. Oh, great saviour, let me kiss your arse so you'll help me out!'

'Is that what you're doing?' Harry thought the question was a bad idea as soon as he opened his mouth, and he knew it was a bad idea when he saw Malfoy's expression.

'Shit, Potter! If I ever feel bad about myself, remind me to talk to you to make me feel better!'

'No, I know, that was stupid. I know you're not.' Harry slumped forward and stared at the floor.

'Good. Because I'm not. I can manage perfectly fine by myself.' Malfoy's hands curled into fists as he barked his words at the ceiling. Harry slumped back next to him, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed, and looked at the Mark again. Malfoy caught his gaze and moved to self consciously cover it with his other hand, rubbing at it with his thumb. 'Unfortunately still permanent. And not a crowd pleaser, unlike your unsightly scar.'

'It doesn't still hurt, does it?'

Malfoy shifted a little in discomfort. 'Only during the nightmares,' he muttered. Harry nodded in agreement, and rubbed his own reminder.

Malfoy moved to stand, and the forest green of his cloak caught Harry's eye for a moment as it whipped around the blond's legs when he moved towards his pile of clothes. Harry caught himself still watching as Malfoy began to remove it and flushed, looking away quickly.

'I need to do more potions practice,' Malfoy said, just loud enough for Harry to hear as he stalked away towards the showers wearing only his leather trousers. 'And stay out of the dorms for a while.' Harry definitely did not watch the way his hips minutely swayed as he snatched a large red towel from a hook and disappeared around the corner.

* * *

When Harry himself finally got to the showers, Malfoy was already finished washing and was peering into a foggy mirror, red towel wrapped high around his waist.

'I'm beginning to see where the reputation began,' he said as he attempted to nonchalantly dart into a cubicle, draping his own towel on one of the chest high, gold-flecked tile walls to his side. Malfoy ignored him as he fastidiously combed his hair back against his skull. Harry turned on the shower and took a moment to enjoy the powerful spray the lever conjured from a previously empty spot above his head.

He didn't realise that Malfoy had quietly stalked over into the next cubicle until he nearly died of shock from hearing the arrogant drawl uncomfortably close to his ear. 'Potter, you've forgotten about your glasses.'

Harry held his hand to his chest as he turned to see Malfoy, smirk firmly in place, leaning with his arms crossed on the wall beside him. 'Merlin!'

'And your ineptitude at awareness will be why you lost that game. Glasses?'

'I did wonder why I'd gone blind,' Harry shot him a look as he tried to run his hand though his damp hair, and failed. He responded with a sheepish grin to Malfoy's obviously disgusted one, who wordlessly offered a comb. 'They'll have been broken anyway - I've got spares in my trunk. Thanks,' he said as he gestured at the comb, but didn't take it. 'But it won't make any difference.'

'Potter, that's atrocious,' Malfoy let the comb fall with a click onto the tile and smoothed a hand over his own hair. 'Maybe I should be brewing hair potions, but for you.'

'They don't work, either,' Harry shrugged as he turned the small tap that dispensed a musky liquid soap. He self consciously leaned closer to the wall Malfoy was occupying as he soaped himself up, in an awkward attempt to maintain a bit of privacy. Usually after Quidditch practice he was one of the ones to shower last, after discussing the game for a while and being the one to put away equipment. And he felt a bit weird about Malfoy being there, but he was unsure why. Maybe it was just because it was Malfoy. Ron would probably rather publicly propose to Neville than let Malfoy see him naked.

'I find that hard to believe. Maybe you were using Granger's, and she obviously doesn't maintain her rat's nest properly.'

'Careful, Malfoy, or I'll turn yours into a rat's nest,' Harry gestured to his wand, safely nestled within the folds of his towel.

'Please, I've protected mine with charms since second year,' Malfoy drawled, and unceremoniously poked Harry in the side of the head with his own wand, apparently previously tucked in the waist of his towel for safekeeping.

'Ow – eww. What was that?' Harry felt a cold, slime-like liquid ooze from the top of his head and failed in suppressing a disgusted shudder.

'Rub it in,' Malfoy twirled his wand in his fingers and he gave an unimpressed look at Harry's disgust. 'Why do you have spare glasses?'

'Ew,' Harry said again, gingerly touching the ooze and rubbing it between his fingers. 'I'll tell you if you tell me what you put on my head.'

'It's just a specialised soap charm, it'll de-tangle that awful mess and exterminate any possible inhabitants.' He ignored Harry's offended glare. 'Spare glasses, why? Do people steal them?'

His most telling reply was catching sight of a gentle blush as Harry looked down and obediently rubbed the goo into his wayward hair. 'Don't think this stuff will work...'

'Pathetic attempt at a topic change, Potty. People actually steal your things? How pathetic!' Malfoy guffawed and slapped the tile in humour. 'How do they even get your glasses, take them while you're sleeping?'

Harry responded by reaching out and smearing a line of goo – garishly purple – across Malfoy's forehead. 'There, now your dignity is gone too.' He grinned and neatly dodged the fist that came haphazardly flying in his direction as Malfoy whipped his towel off to wipe it away. Harry's view was blocked by the wall. Luckily. He coughed. 'Yeah, one time was when I fell asleep in the common room. Hilarious.'

And apparently it was, because Malfoy laughed again. Harry tried to ignore both him and his increasingly hot blush as he massaged the weird purple stuff into his scalp. He looked up when he thought Malfoy had sobered, only to catch sight of his mockingly sober stare as he slapped his palms purposefully on the tile.

'Now, Potter, this is a serious issue, people stealing things from you when you're unaware. It seems entirely possible your virtue may be at stake.'

'Fuck off,' Harry turned to tilt his head back into the spray and rinse away the offending goo. 'My virtue is my business.'

'Meaning that it still exists,' Malfoy whispered in excitement as he leaned in, like he was listening to the thrilling part of a story. 'That, is very, very interesting.'

'I didn't say that,' Harry turned quickly to stare at him, unintentionally splattering him with hot water. Malfoy seemed too enraptured to care.

'But it's what you meant. Ooh. Interesting.'

'Leave it alone, Malfoy,' Harry grunted in warning as he finished rinsing his hair, shutting off the water flow and wrapping his towel around him.

'Don't worry, Scarhead. I've got no-one to tell.' Malfoy gave him a sad smile as he wiped himself dry again and readjusted his own towel.

'There's nothing to tell,' Harry barked as he stormed back to the changing room, dripping copiously.

'Wait for me, oh Virginal One!'

* * *

'So, what else have you had stolen?' Malfoy asked as he slid on a perfectly buffed leather shoe.

Most of them dressing had consisted of Harry awkwardly attempting to keep covered while pulling his clothes on, and Malfoy laughing and commenting on said awkward attempts as he brazenly put on his own attire. Harry steadfastly avoided looking, or rising to the bait. He was grateful that it seemed the blond had gotten bored with that tactic for now.

'Erm, well,' Harry vigorously rubbed his hair dry with his towel as he considered the question, not noticing the pained looks he was inducing. 'Seeker's gloves, a couple of ties, homework, quills, probably other stuff I can't remember...'

'Merlin, Potter, no wonder you look like you're part kneazle – for the love of Circe stop rubbing it like that.' Malfoy's face contorted in disgust as he reached over and snatched the towel away, balling it up and smacking Harry on the head with it for good measure.

'Like I said, it doesn't really matter,' Harry ran a hand through his hair again, and he had to admit it was easier than before. Malfoy noticed, and gave him a pointed look.

'See. Draco knows best. Accept it, and life will be easier.' The comb made a re-appearance as Malfoy unceremoniously dropped it into Harry's lap. 'Perhaps now small birds will not be tempted to nest on your head.'

'I'll miss them.' Harry clumsily scraped the comb through his hair a few times, in a backward direction. There was a pregnant pause, and they both grimaced. Harry combed forwards instead.

* * *

'Hi, Harry,' Hermione greeted him as the painting swung shut behind him in the common room. She was the only one who did; every one else present, including Ron, just stared at him.

Perhaps it was because Hermione had only glanced at him, before returning to the large, ancient looking book she had propped up on her knees, and hadn't quite caught sight of the same thing that transfixed the rest of their house-mates.

'Harry – erm. Your hair.' Ron squinted at him.

'What's wrong with it?' Harry felt impossibly uncomfortable as about forty pairs of eyes followed him crossing the room to sit in an empty chair near his friends.

'It's weird.'

'Oh.' Harry awkwardly tried to rough his hair up, make it look more normal, when Hermione's attention was again pulled from her tome to look at him properly.

'Ronald! Harry, your hair isn't weird,' Hermione soothed as she simultaneously smacked Ron on the arm and slid a bookmark in place, closing the book and giving the two boys her full attention. 'It is a bit different, though. What did you do?'

Harry frowned as he tried to recall what Malfoy had said. 'A 'specialised soap charm', I think,' he quoted.

'Well, it looks nice.' She patted him somewhat patronisingly on the arm. 'Don't let Ron tell you different.'

Ron scowled at her, and went back to squinting suspiciously at Harry.

'Jealousy,' Hermione stage-whispered.

'Hey!'

* * *

That night, Harry found himself in the same place as the night before – awkwardly stood outside the Room of Requirement, mind going haywire.

He hadn't checked on the Map to see if Malfoy was even there, or tried to go in. He decided if he was welcome, and Malfoy was actually there, he'd wait to be invited in rather than barge in himself.

And, to his relief, he was.

'Waiting for me to blow the fanfare?'

'I wasn't sure you were here,' Harry followed him into the Room, yet again transformed into an abundantly stocked potions laboratory.

'Potter, someone is trying to hex you, and I've been seen to be doing a wonderful kiss-arse song and dance. Those Slytherins didn't turn up to our game because they like watching you in Quidditch leathers.' Malfoy stalked back to his cauldron. 'Two plus two equals hiding in here for a while.'

'Are you sure? I do look nice in Quidditch leathers. The Prophet said so.'

'I'll remember to check next time.' Malfoy peered into the cauldron at his potion, illuminating his face in a sickly green light, and sighed. 'And I seem to be completely incapable of brewing anything even close to correctly tonight.'

'Then take a break,' Harry suggested, peering into the cauldron himself and moving to sit on a stool across from Malfoy.

'Either that, or make something that might blow us both up.'

'My vote is in favour of the break option,' Harry vanished the eerily green failure and charmed the pot to clean itself.

'I'll blame you when I fail my NEWT.'

'You can blow me up then, if you like.'

'Duly noted.'

Harry shifted on his uncomfortably hard stool. 'Anyway, I came here with a purpose -' He lifted his hands in supplication when he saw Malfoy's glare. 'Nothing bad. I just thought you might have forgotten our bet.'

'I forget nothing,' Malfoy glared. 'But that memory may have been momentarily misplaced, yes.' He stood up from his own stool and began to slowly walk around the Room, avoiding meeting Harry's eyes. 'So you came to point a wand at me?'

'You said you wanted help with something. Can't help being a hero, me.' Harry rubbed the back of his neck and shifted in discomfort caused by something other than the hard chair. 'Should I go?'

'No! No,' Malfoy looked at him then, and the intensity of his serious expression shocked Harry. 'I'm sorry. Genuinely. Today just threw me. Nest of snakes, and all that.'

Harry nodded, but at which part he wasn't sure. He didn't really understand how Malfoy felt, or what he meant. 'Should we change the Room?'

'Of course. But, from the outside. I don't trust this thing not to kill me.' Malfoy's eyes flashed in sad recognition moments after he'd said them, and shot Harry a defeated look. They shuffled out into the corridor in silence, the door closing and melting back into the wall behind them.

'What was it that you wanted to work on?' Harry asked as Malfoy paced to and fro in front of the stone surface.

'Shhhhhh!'

'Sorry,' Harry whispered, and quickly followed as Malfoy disappeared through a newly created door. 'So?' Harry admired the new Room. Circular in shape, it had a deeply domed ceiling, and low walls clad in grey-toned wood and the shimmer of cushioning charms; a fitting place to practice spells, even more so than what the Room provided for Dumbledore's Army. The lone dark chest at one side puzzled him a bit.

'I must enforce an agreement that you do not mock me when I tell you, for the good of all parties involved,' Malfoy held out a hand. 'And because you're a Gryffindor I know you'll actually stick to it.'

'Deal.' Harry shook his hand emphatically, and was disproportionately pleased when he saw a smile on Malfoy's face. 'Sooo?'

'Alright.' Malfoy squared his shoulders and looked off to Harry's left. 'Patronus.'

'Patronus?'

'Patronus.'

'That spell you might use to protect yourself from the creatures you incessantly mocked me with in Third year?'

'Indeed. The very same.'

'Ah.' Harry smirked.

'No mocking shall occur, as per our agreement.' Malfoy's stare was intense and accusing.

'Sure, of course. No mocking. Whatsoever. So. Boggart in the chest?'

* * *

They practised incessantly, taking turns, for at least two hours. Harry was soothed by the appearance of his patronus, but Malfoy just grew more frustrated and on edge with the sad wisps that came from his wand as time went on until they eventually decided to give up for the evening.

'Good night, Potter.' Malfoy's face was drawn, as was Harry's. He'd quickly stopped needing to try not to snigger when he had realised there was one part of the process that wasn't likely to prove any fun whatsoever.

It wouldn't take three guesses to work out what, or who, appeared out of that chest.

As Malfoy turned to leave, Harry grabbed him by the wrist and moved quickly around to face him. 'He's dead, Malfoy. Very dead. Trust me. Next time we'll just work on the happy memory.'

'Draco.'

'What?'

'You, Potter, have been officially promoted to being my only friend in the world.'

Harry tried, but he couldn't think of anything to say to that. He released the other boy's wrist. 'Goodnight, Draco.'

'Night, Potter.'

'Harry.'

Draco paused, and looked at his earnest expression.

'Night, Harry.'


	4. Chapter 4

**Under the Influence**

**Summary: Harry is out of sorts, and it provides an opportunity Draco didn't even know he needed. HPDM, Post War/'Eighth' Year.**

_Author: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters therein._

* * *

_Chapter Four – Ogden's Old Firewhiskey_

Harry visited the Room the next two nights, and failed to find Draco there. The third night he consulted the Map, and saw that Draco was in the bathroom. That bathroom.

He sat motionless on his bed for a few moments, the Map spread across his lap like a sheet, little black footprints padding their way across the worn parchment. He had no idea what to do.

He got up and grabbed his invisibility cloak.

* * *

'Am I so predictable, or is there something you're not telling me?'

Harry found Draco exactly where the Map said he'd be, and in possibly the most disturbing position he could find him in; laid on the floor, stretched out over the same spot he'd nearly bled to death two years previously.

At Harry's hands.

Harry strode over, slumped to the floor and laid down next to him, in a strange echo of their first real conversation just a few days ago on the grass outside.

'I'm sorry for what I did.' Harry stared at the ceiling, and saw Draco nod from the corner of his eye, accompanied by the gentle hiss of his hair moving on the tiled floor.

'It was very out of character.'

'I didn't know what the spell did,' Harry blurted, as if it would excuse his actions. He brought his palms to his face with a slap. 'Fuck. That makes it worse.'

'Perhaps.'

Harry raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. 'I don't even know why I did it.'

'I did try to Crucio you. Though I am reliably informed that performing it whilst crying does not improve accuracy.'

Harry snorted at the black humour, or perhaps the bizarre situation. He'd never dreamed of this conversation happening. 'Yeah, I've had worse.'

'Me too. The scars are a nice memento, though.'

'Oh, Merlin. It scarred?' Harry turned and gave him a wide eyed, desperate look. 'Fuck. I'm going to have to throw myself off the tower.'

'A touching expression of guilt, but unnecessary,' Draco returned his gaze with a small smirk. 'I don't want to become more of a pariah, but thanks all the same.'

'How badly?' Harry looked desperate, as if he entirely wished it were in any way possible that by scarring Draco meant a small mark or blemish. He remembered how much blood there had been.

His desperate look was quickly replaced by a crimson blush as Draco moved to sit up next to him, the rasping noise of him removing his shirt echoing throughout the tiled room. 'You don't have to do that -'

'I'm afraid I can't really describe them, so it'll have to do,' Draco said offhand as he unbuttoned his cuffs and gently pulled down the sleeves.

Harry sat up, and when he first saw the pale expanse of the top of his back he swallowed thickly. His eyes caught the sharp line of the blond's neck and shoulder before the first scar seized his attention. It spanned from the very top curve of his shoulder, disappeared over the hill onto his chest and reappeared as a gentle swoop around his waist, coming under the lowest ribs to curve onto his back again. The scar was the pearly, opalescent white of a deep wound healed by complex magic, but the skin surrounding it was still slightly puckered. Draco turned and Harry saw more scars, long thin lines that crossed in parallel across his chest and stomach, like he had been slashed at by a dragon's claws.

Before he realised what he was doing, Harry reached out to touch one, and caught himself with a hot flush of embarrassment. Draco clucked in derision.

'It's fine.'

Harry knew he must have blushed darker than ever before as his fingertip came in contact with the small ridge of Draco's highest scar, but he tried not to think about it, and ignore the obvious smirk directed at him. He was lost in the strange mix of stomach-turning guilt and fascination as he traced the scar up over a collarbone and to just beside his throat, in which Harry could see the regular pulse of blood as it undulated through the pale skin.

And suddenly he realised he was in danger of getting hard. He snatched his hand away. Luckily, Draco didn't seem to have noticed.

'They don't bother me as much as they used to. Battle scars, I suppose.' He shrugged his shirt back on, but neglected to button it. 'Who wouldn't be proud of the wounds they got from our great Chosen One?' Harry's horror at this statement was almost palpable and Draco sniggered at his expression. 'Better than a stolen pair of glasses.'

'I'd rather you had the glasses, to be honest,' Harry exhaled and eyed the lines once more. 'Your scars are cooler than my scar, at least.'

'I'm not sure. I've heard yours helps you sense danger, like a cat in a thunderstorm,' Draco drawled, and he poked Harry on the forehead.

'Ow.'

'Didn't it tell you that was going to happen? Maybe it's faulty,' Draco hummed as he roughly twisted Harry's ears like knobs on a wireless, knocking his new replacement spectacles awry. Harry shook free and slumped to lie back down as he glared.

'Git.'

'Draco,' he corrected, moving to elegantly descend to his original position on the floor, shirt still hanging open.

'It makes sense that your name would be synonymous with 'git',' Harry murmured as he gazed upwards.

'An impressively long word, for you, Potter. Is it the only one you know?'

'Harry,' Harry mimicked, and moved his arm to prop his head up. 'Don't worry, I know lots of short words that apply perfectly to you.'

'Me too. Smart, suave, funny...'

'Snide, rude. Smug. Blond.'

'Blond is an insult now?'

'You make it an insult. So bright,' Harry mimed shielding his eyes from the glare of Draco's hair. 'It's painful.'

It earned him a sharp elbow in the ribs.

'Was that painful?'

'Barely noticed it.' Harry then threw himself into a roll to get away from the other boy and dodge the next flying elbow, all while laughing uproariously. He dragged himself to sit up, back aching slightly from the hard floor, and eyed the tap of the nearest sink, long repaired from the bizarre battle that seemed to have taken place decades before in Harry's mind. He thought about a different bathroom on the floor above, and squinted.

He'd probably lost the Parseltongue, it being part of the Horcrux Harry used to be. Shame. It was the only real cool part.

He caught Draco watching his musing, propped up on one elbow and looking suspicious. He smiled and waved, and got a rude gesture in return.

'What's your happy thought?'

Draco slumped down dramatically at the question, and hissed when his head contacted to floor with slightly too much force. 'That's a bit personal, for our first date.'

'First? If this is a date, then we've had about four so far,' Harry mimed counting on his fingers. 'The first I don't remember much of.'

'And isn't that always the way it goes,' Draco sniggered, covering his face with one arm. 'Makes sense by this point you'd get my shirt off.'

Harry blushed, the joke having gone a bit further than he'd expected. He picked awkwardly at the edge of a floor tile. 'Happy memory?'

'Oh, I don't know, Potter. There are so many to choose from.' Draco snapped upright, and gained his eye contact with an intense stare Harry couldn't bring himself to look away from. 'Finally killing one of those ridiculous white peacocks? Check. Father being ever so proud when I got my Mark? Check. Finally repairing that awful cupboard? Check.' Harry winced. 'Precisely. Not exactly winning the Quidditch World Cup, is it.'

'A lot more like winning the Triwizard tournament,' Harry shuffled back over to sit beside the blond. 'Is there really nothing else that would work?'

'I'm rather sick of thinking about it. I shall have to accept that producing a Patronus is simply not going to happen for me,' Draco lay back down again, and replaced the arm to cover his eyes.

'Why did you want it in the first place?'

'My father is in Azkaban.' Harry nodded; he knew that. He'd testified to help both Draco and Narcissa, but there was nothing Harry could do for Lucius. 'I've visited him. I did not enjoy it.'

Harry was slightly distracted by the heavy sigh Draco heaved, as he caught sight of the light of the room's torches as it glinted off the shiny surface of his scars. He traced the lines with his eyes, especially one particular line that seemed to descend lower than the waistline of perfectly pressed school trousers. He quickly flicked away from his enraptured stare when he saw Draco's arm shift, curiosity peaked by the silence.

'What?'

'I'm thinking,' Harry lied, as he stared steadfastly at the floor about a foot to the left of Draco's hip. 'Quidditch?'

'We lost altogether too much for it to retain any lustre.'

'First kiss?' Harry was scraping the bottom of the proverbial barrel. His reply was a harsh barking laugh.

'Merlin, no.' Harry's curiosity was peaked by the amused, dismissive tone of voice.

'Why not?'

'Sharing dirty stories already, are we? You move fast on your dates, Wonder boy.'

'I bet it wasn't worse than mine,' Harry gave a wincing smile, rubbing at his neck.

'I very much doubt it. But, do tell anyway. I'm all ears.' Draco did indeed look interested, if mockingly so, sliding both hands behind his head as if he were sunbathing and giving Harry encouraging grin. 'Go on.'

'Not fair. You heard about my glasses, so it's your turn to share an embarrassing story,' Harry pointed accusingly in Draco's face, quickly removing his hand with a flush when the other boy mimed biting at it.

'I'm already very tired of this Gryffindor sense of fairness, so often used to my disadvantage,' Draco stretched out like a cat in sunlight. 'It's almost Slytherin of you.' That gave Harry the spark of an idea.

'Alright, here. You tell me, and I'll tell you something I've not told anybody else.' Kind of. He couldn't remember if he'd told Hermione and Ron. Probably.

'Hmmm.' Harry could tell Draco's interest was peaked more than he tried to let on, by the way he tensed and peered at him. 'Alright.'

He straightened up, shifting to sit cross legged, directly facing Harry, and Harry was slightly disturbed by the sharp, wicked edge to his grin. 'So.' He gripped his own knees, in a slightly demented parody of a pixie-ish pose. 'It was fifth year. Blaise's mother had sent him some fire whiskey for his birthday, hidden in some books about bloodlines or something, I don't recall. A few of us drank some, laughed at those of us who coughed, pissed about a while and went to bed. Later, when I was just falling asleep, I heard someone pull open the curtains on my bed, but it was too dark to see who. Then I felt them crawl up the bed.'

Draco shifted forward slightly, and Harry nearly jumped. 'I felt them put their hands on my legs,' Harry then did jump when Draco gently shifted both hands to rest on Harry's knees; 'and move upwards.' Harry audibly gulped as Draco's hands slid up his trousers, thumbs spread out and rubbing up the inside of his thighs. 'Then I could feel them shift closer to my face.' Harry felt Draco's hot breath as he moved his face to just inches from Harry's own, staring into his eyes. Draco's hands glided slowly further up, coming dangerously close to Harry's crotch. 'So, I reached for my wand, and cast a lumos charm.' Harry felt the whisper as the warm air spread across his lips. And waited. Draco just gazed intensely at him.

'And?' He asked breathlessly. Draco hung there a few moments longer, edging just close enough that their noses brushed and rubbed his thumbs in circles on Harry's thighs. Then he paused.

'It was Millicent Bulstrode.'

Harry fell over backwards, and Draco pulled back, cackling manically. 'No!'

'Absolutely true. It was less a kiss, more her falling asleep on my face,' Draco wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. 'Poor girl, she was absolutely hammered. Wouldn't look at me for weeks.' Harry just stared at the ceiling, full of an awkward mix of shock, humour and a bit of uncomfortable arousal, until his arm was seized and he was unceremoniously dragged back up to a sitting position. 'I demand you honour our deal now, Gryffindor.'

'Okay, alright,' Harry, yanking free and righting himself. 'Mine doesn't have such a dramatic mime, but, here you go.' He ran a hand self-consciously through his still drastically smoother hair. 'When we were First years, and we were being sorted, well,' he saw Draco's enraptured expression, and wondered whether he was going to regret saying it. 'The Sorting Hat didn't want to put me in Gryffindor straight away.'

'Not like me, then. I barely got it on,' Draco looked nostalgic. 'Born to be a Slytherin.'

'Yeah, well. That's what the Hat thought about me, too.'

'Of course, Scarhead. Everyone knows you're a textbook Gryffindor hero.'

'Not exactly.' Oh dear, Harry thought. 'The Hat thought I'd make a good Slytherin, too.'

'What?' Draco's eyes were comically large, white exposed all the way around his steel grey irises. 'I don't believe you. This world is not a world where things like that happen. You must have been dreaming, Potty.' Draco waved a hand dismissively at him.

'Harry. Since we could have been house-mates and all.' He was stuck by a strange desire, and pulled off his red and gold tie, seizing Draco's abandoned green and silver one to replace it. They both stared at it after he'd finished putting it on.

'Slytherin Harry Potter,' Draco murmured, reaching out to run the tie through his hand and eyeing Harry with scepticism. 'Officially the strangest thing I've ever seen.' He hummed, prodding his finger on Harry's jaw to move his head to and fro while squinting appraisingly. 'It may go with your eyes, but you wouldn't have lasted five minutes. You've no idea what even being in the Common Room is like.'

Harry's own eyes widened in realisation and he snickered at the statement. 'Actually, I do. Snuck in in Second year.' He laughed more as Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

'Maybe you'd fit in more than I thought.' Draco tapped his chin with a finger, deep in thought. 'Want to sneak in again?'

Harry looked bemused. 'Erm, it took us a few months of planning to do it last time.'

'Us? Does this have anything to do with me finding Vincent and Gregory half naked and covered in cake crumbs?'

'Maybe.' Harry looked sheepish.

'Thank Circe. I thought that was something different entirely.' Draco's face was warped with disgust. 'Do you have your ridiculous cloak?'

'Um, I don't know what you're talking about.'

'That.' Draco pointed at the shimmering folds of fabric spilling from the bag Harry had abandoned next to the door.

'Oh. Yeah.'

'So, I have something to drink, back in my dorm. Interested?'

Harry paused, and thought about it. He was probably being waited for back in his House; Hermione seemed to be keeping a careful mental ledger of when and why he was absent. He'd certainly get an earful about avoiding work and talking to them.

On the other hand, what Draco was offering was a hundred times more interesting.

'Sure,' he said, and was bodily dragged to his feet and out of the door, barely managing to snatch up his bag on the way.

* * *

'Shh,' Draco hissed at the empty space next to him as they reached the wall in the cellars, the place Harry vaguely remembered being the entrance from the trio's ill fated attempts at detective work when they were twelve.

'Um, I'm on your other side,' Harry whispered, giving the other boy a small poke on the arm. 'Over here.'

'Well, how am I bloody well supposed to know?' Draco flapped his hands dramatically above his head. 'The word 'invisible' is in there for a reason,' he began to fastidiously rearrange his uniform in a flustered fashion. 'Just stay behind me, keep quiet and try not to trip over anything.'

'Seven years of practice, Draco.'

'Prove it,' the blond said as he glared at Harry. Or, at least, where he thought Harry was; he was off by a couple of feet. 'Ready?'

'Go for it.'

'Alright.' Draco squared his shoulders, like he was going into his trial all over again. 'Hmm, 'cunning', I think.'

The wall dutifully melted away to show a narrow passageway, that Draco quickly paced down with a cloaked Harry at his heels. They rounded a corner and reached an opening over which a luxurious tapestry was draped like a door. Draco pushed it back and entered the Common Room grandly, holding it up slightly longer than seemingly necessary to give Harry a chance to dart through after him.

The room immediately fell silent. It being around eleven on a Wednesday evening, the majority of its small number of inhabitants were students Harry immediately recognised from his own returning classes; Draco's year-mates, and in some cases Harry would have assumed his friends.

'Here he is, the blood traitor. Got bored of Potter's dick, did you Malfoy?'

Apparently not.

'One must let the poor man sleep sometime, Nott. But you and Zabini must know about that.'

'Fuck you, you piece of shit,' the boy Harry recognised as Theodore Nott angrily moved to stand, wand threateningly pointed at Draco. Harry gripped his own, quietly moving to point it at Nott, should he need to join in.

'Yes, Nott, very eloquent. Well, goodnight,' Draco gave the occupants of the room a sweeping, mocking bow, and turned to quickly climb a set of stairs. Harry turned to follow, but he didn't like how quickly Nott was moving to catch up. He flicked his wand, paused to enjoy the sickening crunch of Nott's nose meeting the stone floor with great force, and swooped around to climb the stairs himself.

He stumbled into a low-lit room, and marvelled at it being a strange, green toned reflection of his own dormitory room high up in the Gryffindor house. There were five beds, all four posters with heavy green curtains, and all vacant. Draco stood in the middle of the room, groping at the air.

'Potter. Potter?'

'Over here,' Harry said, as he divested himself of the cloak. 'What was that?'

'In a minute,' Draco lunged to grab him, and dragged him over to a bed in the far corner, separated from the others by more than the usual distance. 'Nott will be coming.' Draco shoved him roughly onto the mattress, clambered on beside him and dragged the curtains closed, immediately setting to the task of charming them to stay that way and adding a silencing charm and protection ward for good measure. 'Good job he's not very good at breaking spells.'

Harry grumbled, rubbing his head where he'd hit it off the headrest, and then tried to neatly fold his cloak back into his satchel and failed. 'I can see why you try to spend time away from here.'

'Yes, sometimes the intellectual stimulus of conversations with my house-mates can be taxing,' Draco drawled as he rooted around at the top end of the bed, shoving his arm down the gap between the dark wood and the mattress. As soon as he gripped what he was looking for, and displayed a bottle the label of which Harry couldn't see in the darkness, they both heard the angry stomping of Nott entering the dorm room. Draco sniggered.

'Cowardly little shit!' They heard Nott spit at the occupied bed, before stomping off down the stairs again.

'Love you too, Theo,' Draco said absent-mindedly as he peered at the bottle. Harry conjured some delicate balls of light, letting them drift to the canopy and bob there like balloons.

'Ogden's? Where did you get that from?' Harry took the bottle and looked at the label. He didn't know much at all about drinking, but he knew this bottle was old, and that that was a good thing.

'I brought it from home. It was probably best it came with me, rather than staying with my mother,' he said as he retrieved the whiskey and uncorked it, taking an impressively long draw from it. Harry attempted to do the same thing, and Draco sniggered as he spluttered and coughed. 'Never mind, Potter, you'll get practice enough.' He slumped to sit with his back against the headrest, spreading his legs out and propping the bottle up on the thigh closest to Harry. Harry clambered up to join him.

They sat in silence for a while, absent-mindedly passing the whiskey back and forth until it turned from awkward to companionable. Harry lost himself musing, staring at their shoes until a sharp poke on the leg brought him back into the present.

'Potter. How did you know I was in the bathroom?'

Harry considered the question for a while. He felt like he didn't know whether telling the truth was a bad idea, and wondered whether he'd be thinking more clearly without the alcohol.

'Magic.'

'Come on, Potty. Don't be a dick. How? How how how?' Draco probed, quite literally, punctuating every word with a prod to Harry's thigh.

'Hmm. Well, you know how I have that cloak? I also have this map. It tells me where people are.'

'What, in the world?' Draco's childlike confusion was obvious, almost as much as his tipsiness was.

'No, in the school. It's a map of the school, and it shows these little footprints with a label saying who it is.'

'Oh. How invasive,' Draco's nose wrinkled as he considered it. 'Can you see people getting it off?'

Harry was in the process of taking a drink, and spluttered in surprise. 'Don't generally use it for that.' He thought about it, and blushed.

'I knew you were lying about nearly being a Slytherin,' Draco stated, matter-of-fact, as he snatched the bottle back. 'Having a magical spying map and not using it perversely. How very Gryffindor.'

'I actually have it with me. Want to see it?' Draco gave him a look which said everything.

'Show me it. Now.'

'Okay, fine,' Harry laughed and held up his palms in supplication, moving to root through his bag. He deposited the browned parchment onto Draco's lap, reaching to unfold it slightly to reveal the pages that showed the dungeons.

'Potter, it's blank.' Harry chuckled as Draco flicked through the folds, finding nothing.

'Wait a minute,' he said, drawing his wand and tapping the topmost page. 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good. There.' The ink bled quickly from the point of contact, outlining walls and doorways and here and there the little imprint of shoes.

'See, even the incantation tells you you should be being a pervert,' Draco commented, using his own want to illuminate the page and to help him peer at the small details. 'There we are.' He traced his finger over the marks, indicating two little pairs of footprints, static on the outline of a bed. Draco wiggled his foot, and the correspondingly labelled footprint waved about in time with it. 'This is complex magic. Of course, you would be the one to have it.'

'Better than McGonagall,' Harry intoned seriously, and Draco pulled a face.

'Look, see if you can find anyone having sex,' Harry found the map being spread out over both their laps as Draco tapped authoritatively on the page he'd pushed Harry's way; the one that showed the Hufflepuff house quarters.

'Seriously?'

'You cannot imagine the rumours I've heard.'

* * *

Draco woke in the pitch darkness, the lights having long since faded. He could hear the soft sounds of people sleeping around him, and for a moment he was entirely thrown by an overwhelming sense of not knowing where he was; he hadn't slept anywhere but the Room of Requirement for weeks, being too concerned for his safety to relax elsewhere. He realised his head was pillowed on parchment, and for a moment thought he may have fallen asleep while doing his homework, but that didn't add up with something else entirely strange about his surroundings.

There was an arm thrown around him, pulling him back into another body.

That was new.

He slowly re-orientated himself, turning around to see the face of the other person, when the feeling of Potter's cold metal spectacle frame against his neck made him realise two things; Potter was in his bed with him, and that was very very bad.

'Shit,' he whispered gently, reaching up above their heads to flip a small brass switch that bathed the bed in a low, gentle light. His plan, though he had admittedly not very much thought it through, was to sneak Potter out after his other room-mates had turned in for the night. Not to have a sleepover. 'Potter,' he hissed, reaching out a hand. He paused, arm in mid-air, before bringing it slowly down again.

Potter looked peaceful, in a rough, weathered way that made Draco feel strangely protective. He reached out again and gently removed the spectacles that had become almost entirely dislodged at some point while they slept, depositing them in the ledge of the bed frame. Draco considered the sleeping face for a moment, blowing gently on the dark haired boy's brow to better expose the thin, jagged scar. Before he realised what he was doing, he softly traced the line with one light fingertip. Potter shifted slightly, emitting a low murmur, and Draco swallowed hard.

He knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly what he wanted to do. Draco quickly surmised that he was still drunk – they had consumed a significant portion of the small bottle, in a relatively short space of time – but he wasn't sure it entirely justified perving on Potter as he slept.

No, it definitely didn't, Draco thought, as he leant back and took in Potter's sleeping form, shirt crumpled, exposing part of his torso, and Slytherin tie still around his neck. Still, he 'accidentally' caught the rumpled shirt with his thumb, exposing an inch more stomach. It definitely, definitely didn't.

It was lucky for Potter that he chose that moment to shift into wakefulness, Draco thought, watching him curl up then stretch out, eyelids slowly fluttering open. He watched as Potter took in the unfamiliar green canopy, brow furrowed, then turned to squint at him. Draco gave him a small wave.

'Shit,' Potter muttered, rubbing his eyes.

'Sorry. I must have forgotten to mention the Ogden's was laced. I've kidnapped you to be my slave.'

'Eh?' Potter just squinted at him in confusion.

'Note to self,' Draco mimed writing on his palm with a quill. 'Potter not very lucid upon waking. Proceed with caution.'

'Hermione's going to be livid,' Potter sighed, smoothing his hand over his face.

'Ah. I'm not the bed partner you were expecting to have tonight, then.'

'Fuck off, Malfoy,' Harry made a good natured swipe at him with a fist, which he neatly caught, pulling the fingers open and examining the palm.

'Sorry, Harry. My enriching education with Trelawney gives me the authority to tell you that it will not be a successful relationship.'

'Or a relationship at all,' Potter stated, reaching up to poke Draco on the forehead. He stopped to think about it, and shuddered. 'No, thank you.'

Draco thought about it too, and echoed the shudder. 'That,' he said, 'cannot be unseen.' Harry laughed, a little too loudly, and caught himself.

'Are the charms still on?' Draco checked, sweeping his wand – which he found inexplicably tucked down the back of his shirt – and nodded, receiving a sigh of relief. 'Thank Godric. No offence, but I don't really want to be caught down here.'

'And I would also rather avoid it, if you recall Nott's impression on the circumstances as they already are,' Draco drawled, and smirked at Potter's confused expression. He made a graphic gesture with one finger of right hand and linking the thumb and index of his left, and Potter's face looked like it may set of fire from the sheer ferocity of his blush.

'I should go,' Harry stammered. Draco shrugged and shook his head.

'Do you have a lesson tomorrow morning?'

Harry considered it, rubbing his eye again. 'No, don't think so.'

'They do, and I won't be missed in mine.' Draco decisively lay back down, sat up and removed the parchment, then lay down again. 'You may stay if you wish.'

He watched Harry out of the corner of his eye as he cast a _tempus_ and moaned at what he saw. 'Thanks. It's not really worth going back now. Are you sure it'll be safe?'

'I vow to protect you with my life, Scarhead.'

'That's reassuring.' He felt the other boy shift beside him, and tilted his head to watch Potter curl up on his side to face Draco, expression showing he was already beginning to drift back to sleep. 'Fanks.'

'You're welcome,' Draco whispered, and moved to brush Potter's hair from his face before he could stop himself. If Potter noticed, he didn't mention it, his brow de-creasing and his breathing softening to a gentle rhythm.

'S'nice. Don't have nightmares, here.' And with that, Potter was asleep.

And Draco was more awake than ever.


	5. Chapter 5

**Under the Influence**

**Summary: Harry is out of sorts, and it provides an opportunity Draco didn't even know he needed. HPDM, Post War/'Eighth' Year.**

_Author: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters therein._

* * *

_Chapter Five – Tying Ties_

After a few blissful hours of deep sleep, Harry awoke to see Draco propped up elegantly on the headboard next to him, still dressed in yesterday's clothes and reading a book. He paused, and listened intently to the sounds of the surrounding room. Silence. So, the other Slytherins where gone, then. He sat up slowly with a grunt, and wiped sleep from his eyes as he considered his own attire.

'Malfoy, at what point did my shoes run away?'

'The usual way of addressing the man you just shared a bed with is by his first name.' Draco calmly turned a page, then angled his head to consider the question. 'I believe it was in between your impression of Slughorn and our mutual attempt to demonstrate Quidditch manoeuvres while lying down.'

'Oh,' Harry muttered, scratching his head. 'I don't remember either of those things.'

'I only do because of how you kneed yourself in the head,' Draco sniggered, closing the book and setting it aside. 'You proved yourself to be both impressively flexible and not at all co-ordinated.'

'And proud,' Harry stretched, and moved to break the charms set the night before and peer in a cautious manner from between the curtains. 'I have no idea what time it is.'

'Near lunchtime.'

'Oh, no.' Harry slumped back on the bed, slapping his hand to his forehead. 'Today will be when I'm brutally murdered by Hermione. I knew this day would come.'

'Good lord, Potter. When did our dear Lady the Frizz-ball become your keeper?' Draco squinted at him. 'One would think it was unacceptable for a man to take an unexplained absence and get irresponsibly drunk. The times we live in.' Harry sniggered, but he knew the danger was real. Hermione was going to be beyond livid. Each hour of her day, and by proxy his and Ron's, were carefully and meticulously planned, and both boys had been relentlessly convinced that to deviate from said plan would bring upon them the end of days. 'Well, you have two choices. Go to lunch, or run away to Berlin and change your name to Friedrich. And, since we both know the latter wouldn't suit you at all...'

Draco moved to scrape back the curtains and stand, unbuttoning his shirt. Harry wondered for a moment what on earth he was doing then caught sight of Draco's awkwardly wayward hair and dark shadows under his eyes. He supposed he needed to shower and change too.

'I'll best go back to my house and get sorted, then,' Harry mumbled as he rubbed the back of his neck and attempted to gather his things, including the shoes he found wedged at the back of the bed.

'I give you permission to say I kidnapped you, if it helps,' Draco shot him a flash of teeth as he rummaged in his bedside table. 'You could even furnish it with a tale of being wantonly ravished, if the mood takes you.' The joke drew Harry's attention uncomfortably to the pale glow of Draco's skin as he bent shirtless over the drawer. His forced giggle ended in a cough as his eyes traced the lines of shoulder blades, and caught on the dimples interrupting the smooth sweep of the small of his back. Harry steeled himself, and made sure his shoes were replaced on his feet and things messily gathered into his satchel. He draped his cloak around his shoulders as he moved to descend the stairs.

'See you later, then.'

'Farewell, Potter's floating head.'

Harry blushed, dragged the cloak's hood over his hair and stumbled out.

* * *

'HARRY JAMES POTTER.'

Oh, God, Harry thought. She wasn't even going to let him get all the way past the portrait.

'Where have you BEEN? We've been so worried - thought you might have been kidnapped - or, or killed!' Hermione stormed at him from where she'd been sat near the fireplace with Ron. Ron remained there now, giving Harry a sheepish and regretful look as he faced the full force of her fury. Even the first years gathered on a study table to his right gave him a look of pity.

'Well -'

'Good HEAVENS, Harry! We even had a search party out! Ginny has been going SPARE!' Not even a word in edgewise, then. Better just to let it flow over him.

'And WHY are you wearing a SLYTHERIN TIE?'

Oh, no.

That wasn't good.

* * *

To say that Harry's lunch time and the rest of his day was uncomfortable was an understatement.

Apparently, judging by Hermione's cold shoulder with intermittent seething, he'd taken liberties with the free time he'd indulged in by not telling her what he was doing. Although he prickled at being treated like a child, he had to see her point. A few months ago, finding Harry missing would have had much scarier connotations, and no-one had quite moved beyond that yet. He had no idea how Ron felt. The other boy wouldn't meet his gaze.

Either way, what was bothering him more were the tell-tale little murmurs he kept catching at the edge of his hearing that he knew didn't bode well. He'd been very, very stupid to forget about that tie. His house weren't above gossip, and he had no doubt that that gossip would spread across the school in no time at all. And after what he'd heard Nott say the night before, he figured the gossip wouldn't contain anything likely to do Draco any favours.

He'd had that in mind in the evening when he was able to finally appreciate some time alone, sitting with his map on his bed with the curtains drawn. He quickly sought out Draco, having only glimpsed him at lunch and wondering whether he had an intention of meeting him that night and if so, where.

He quickly found Draco's labelled footprints standing still in the Dungeons, not far from Slytherin house itself. His blood went cold when he saw the footprints of another, facing him and backing him into the line of a wall. As soon as Harry read Nott's name, he snatched up his cloak and ran.

* * *

Draco would need the fingers of both hands to count the number of times this had happened to him before, he thought to himself as he shuffled quickly backwards, arm outstretched to feel for the cold stone behind him. This year, it seemed that the baiting and snide interactions with his fellow Slytherins would be part and parcel of the price he paid for being a survivor, and he was determined to continue surviving regardless. But, in this case, there was something indescribable in Nott's eyes.

His bare wrist contacted with the hard surface just a moment before his fingers did, and the rough, rasping texture tore at the delicate skin. He hissed, turning his head for a second to better gain his bearings, and when he turned back to face his aggressor again his gaze focussed on a wand pointed between his eyes, barely a few inches from his face.

Nott's face was grotesque, and unglamorously accented by the yellow light of the dungeon's lanterns, throwing half of his scowl into deepest shadow. He continued to advance forward, his wand forcing Draco to flatten himself back rather than risking the loss of an eye.

'You're a disgusting little slut, aren't you, Malfoy,' Nott drawled, a pale imitation of Draco's own signature vocal stress and possibly unintentional. Draco thought he could see from Nott's posture signs of a forced, unnatural attempt at confidence; it worried him, because he realised he didn't want to know what Nott intended to do that made him so unsure.

'I would disagree, but I dare say you wouldn't listen anyway,' Draco tried to present his own façade as his eyes darted to and fro. Nott had taken his wand due to a lapse in awareness, and Draco would never forgive himself that mistake. Combining that with the physical restriction of Nott's advancing body, Draco had few options for his own defence and none for his escaping unharmed.

His desperate gaze was distracted and drawn by a stomach wrenching glint of light, caught in the corner of his eye. Draco watched, frozen, as Nott slowly and dramatically revealed a thin, curved knife from the pocket of his robe, wand still pointed at Draco's forehead all the while.

'You're a dirty whore, Malfoy. And in many different ways.' Nott made great show of drawing the knife upwards in a slow arc, neglecting his focus on his prey to admire his weapon. His serene, far-away smile made Draco feel sick. 'A blood traitor and a coward, just like your father. Your boyfriend Potter isn't here to help you now.' Draco felt the biting pressure of the sharp edge press against his neck. He tried to kick out, but Nott was using his ample weight and height to press him into the unforgiving hardness of the wall. Draco's hands scrabbled at the stone for purchase, and his nails chipped on the roughly hewn rock. He felt a warm, slow spreading from the knife edge, and smelt his own blood as it flowed across his collarbone.

'Wrong.'

Although he would never admit to it, Draco had closed his eyes in a brief acceptance of his fate; the voice, unfamiliar in the context of the situation, caused him to snap them open in the same instant he felt the overbearing pressure of Nott's presence disappear. He witnessed the look on Nott's face, one of unbridled surprise, before the other boy slammed into the opposite wall with huge force and slid to the floor, eyes closing as he lost consciousness.

Draco eased slowly to the floor himself, shaking and ignoring the stone scratching at his shirt and skin.

'The drama wasn't really called for,' he gasped out, prodding gingerly at his neck with a trembling hand.

'You're welcome?' Draco felt the warmth of a presence between his outstretched shins and in his dazed state was momentarily confused by watching them disappear, before seeing the swirl of fabric and Potter magically appear crouched between them. 'Here – shit, that's not good,' Potter clamped a wad of cloth to his seeping throat, and pressed Draco's hand onto it to indicate to him to hold it there. 'I can't heal this. We need to go to Pomfrey.'

'It hurts,' Draco mumbled, removing the cloth – a simple handkerchief - to stare at the red stain of his own blood, saturating a large portion of the fabric and his own shirt sleeve too. 'Ow.'

Potter just stared at him, stunned. 'I think you might be in shock. Come on, that's bleeding way too much.' Potter pushed his hand to replace the cloth and yanked on his other elbow, urging him to stand. Draco just moaned at the sickly warmth he felt spreading slowly down his shirt front.

Potter pointed his wand at him, and Draco squinted at it blearily, until he seemed to re-think it. He then bodily hauled Draco into his arms, pressing the handkerchief to his wound with one hand and took off down the hallway as quickly as he could.

* * *

Draco woke to the dim light of an approaching dawn, gently illuminating the brass bed posts and diligently folded sheets of the infirmary. His first thought was about the uncomfortable tight and itchy sensation at his throat, and with it the memories of his altercation with Nott came flooding back. He sat bolt upright, grasping awkwardly at his covers before a hand gently pushed him back to lie down again.

'Pomfrey says you're not allowed to go yet. She doesn't believe I didn't do that, so she wants you to tell on me.' Harry's raspy voice startled him, it coming from so close to his ear. He turned to see him curled up on a chair beside his bed, and received a tired smile in return. 'How are you feeling?'

'Like I've been stabbed in the throat,' Draco muttered gruffly, running a hand across his face. His head was pounding, and his mouth was tainted by the bitter after-taste of medicinal potions. He stuck his tongue out in disgust. Harry chuckled quietly, but it died quickly in his throat as Draco watched his face fall.

'She said you would have bled to death,' Harry murmured, scraping his chair closer and nervously playing with the folds of the bed's worn sheets. 'Or a deeper cut would have killed you faster.'

'Good to know Nott knew what he was doing, I suppose.' Draco rolled onto his side to face Harry, the bandaging on his neck making a quiet crinkling sound as he shifted. 'So, how do I join the club?'

'What club?' Harry wrinkled his nose in confusion, losing interest in the sheets.

'You know, the club of people who've been saved by Harry Potter.' Harry flicked him on the nose in response, and Draco chuckled, grabbing his hand. 'Seriously. Thanks, Potter.'

'Harry.' Harry twisted his hand so that their palms touched and they laced their fingers together.

Draco gave him a small smile, and squeezed his hand.

Neither of them noticed Madame Pomfrey as she approached, and Harry jumped out of his skin, beet red in the face, when she announced she now believed they hadn't been fighting, current circumstances considered.

* * *

'You need to see McGonagall about Nott, Draco,' Harry blocked his path as he moved to collect more ingredients, once again practising his potions in the Room. Harry had watched that morning as Draco had sat stoically when receiving his emphatic instructions on how to report the incident from Madame Pomfrey; and even more stoically stride off in the wrong direction, shrugging off Harry's hand on his shoulder with a gruff 'leave it, Potter'.

Draco stared him down, unimpressed. Harry just squared his shoulders in defiance.

'I don't need that trouble, Potter.' Draco's glare was icy and unforgiving.

'And nearly being killed isn't trouble?' Harry implored as he moved forward, grasping the other boy by the arms and looking into his face. Draco didn't pull away in disgust, like Harry feared, but his expression remained unchanged and his posture unyielding. Harry sighed, and reached to brush a thumb across the barely noticeable shimmer of the glamour over the wound, his face creasing with worry. 'He'll try again, you know he will.'

'I'll be more careful next time.' Harry found himself being pushed roughly away, but he caught a glimpse of Draco's face and saw it had softened enough to leak a hint of fear.

'And I'll help you – but we don't know what else he'll try.'

'I don't need your help, Potter.'

'I'm going to give it anyway.' Draco looked up in surprise, to see Harry stare at him with determination.

'I'm not important enough to receive that attention, Potter,' Draco scoffed derisively as he set a jar of bat's eyes down on the bench with more force than was necessary. 'Go give it to a worthy Gryffindor instead. Perhaps the She-Weasel?'

'Ginny isn't the victim of a murder attempt,' Harry pointed out, shuffling around to stand in front of Draco again. 'And she doesn't deserve my attention more than you, either.'

'Really? And here was me thinking that having breasts really tipped it in her favour.' Draco gave him a mocking smile. Harry just looked confused. 'There there, Potter,' Draco patted him on the arm. 'I'm saying you want to sleep with her.'

'I don't want to sleep with Ginny!' Harry was flustered by the thought, and went bright red as he realised what he'd said. 'I mean, I did, but – what I meant to say was – urgh.'

'Do keep going. Anything to detract from my own little drama is welcome.'

'This isn't a little drama, Malfoy,' Harry scolded, secretly grateful for the conversation change. 'Someone stabbing you isn't a little thing.'

'So, is it the hair you don't like? Remind you too much of snogging the other Weasley?' Harry's flush re-blossomed, and he slumped down onto a stool in order to drape himself face down across a bench in embarrassment. It seemed he wasn't going to get away from that accidental admission easily, even though he was desperate to address the big issue. He felt Draco pat his shoulder in condescension. 'I can understand how that would be off-putting.'

'Her hair is fine,' Harry mumbled into the bench. 'It just didn't work. Any way, stop trying to change the subject,' he moved to sit back up and glare at Draco. 'That's not even close to important right now.'

'And yet it's the thing I'm most interested in,' Draco drawled, dragging over another stool to sit and stare imploringly into Harry's eyes. 'Was the sex bad?'

'What? Merlin – stop that!' Harry nearly fell off his stool. Draco sniggered.

'Ah. Come close to the truth, have I?' He asked, enraptured by Harry's mortification. 'What was it, was she boring in bed?' His smirk almost split his face in two at Harry's offended spluttering. 'Or, the opposite perhaps!'

'Shut up, Ferret,' Harry had had enough. The other boy's face fell upon hearing the nickname, but his eyes sharpened.

'Fine. I'll just have to work it out for myself.' He gracefully spun to move over to the other side of the bench and readdress his attention to his potion. Harry worried that he'd crossed the unspoken but delicate line they had forged in their friendship.

'Another deal? I'll tell you why, if you see McGonagall.'

Draco hissed, looking pensively into the murky surface of the simmering liquid in his cauldron. 'Hmmm.' He tapped his wand on the rim. 'Hmm,' he said again, abandoning the potion to lean forward on the bench, supporting himself with outstretched hands. He fixed Harry with a solid stare, head tilted and one eyebrow raised in consideration. Harry's stomach fluttered a little.

'It's worth it,' he supplied. 'Honest.'

Draco stared at him a moment longer, drumming his fingers on the wood. 'Alright.' Harry inwardly cheered, then realised what he'd just agreed to.

* * *

'Hello, Harry,' Hermione's tone was hostile when he returned to the Common Room that night. Harry tried the 'completely obvious' method, smiling at her winningly and seating himself next to her near the fire. 'Don't give me that look. Where were you?'

'I was, erm, doing some revision,' he replied as he stretched out in the warmth.

'So you skipped our revision session to do it elsewhere?' Harry winced.

'I forgot. I'm sorry, 'mione, honestly.' He tried to reach for her hand in supplication, but she pulled it away and glared; he realised she was more angry than he'd initially picked up.

'Forgot, or didn't care. Come talk to me when you're finished messing about.' She snapped the textbook on her lap closed and rose to storm off towards the stairs to the Girls' dorm. Harry bit his lip, and fled to his own dorm, steadfastly ignoring the curious stares from around the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Under the Influence**

**Summary: Harry is out of sorts, and it provides an opportunity Draco didn't even know he needed. HPDM, Post War/'Eighth' Year.**

_Author: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters therein._

* * *

_Chapter Six – Unhappy Thought_

Blissfully, the next morning was the beginning of a weekend, and Harry took the opportunity to flee his house-mates and friends as soon as possible. He knew it was cowardice, but he entirely felt it was justified; after his short exchange with a thoroughly upset Hermione last night, he went to his shared dorm room to find Ron had already drawn his curtains on his four poster and charmed them to stay closed – something Harry hadn't known him to do even during fourth year when they were at odds over the tournament. When he'd reached over to disrupt the spells and talk to his best friend, Neville had caught his wrist and shook his head in discouragement.

Of course, Harry knew exactly why Ron had been so quiet the past few days, and why he was as openly hostile as Hermione now. Before the war it would have been much more usual for his friend to shout at him a bit, and they could reconcile, and it would all be sorted in no time at all; now, perhaps they had been through too much, or maybe Ron saw his actions more of a betrayal than Harry yet realized.

Malfoy hadn't exactly been on their side.

* * *

The Room helped him burn off energy and some of his frustration, transforming into a practice area entirely fit for the purpose he wanted it for, even including targets for him to fire spells at. Most of the ones he practiced went mostly as planned, and didn't blow anything up or hurt Harry himself, so he considered it a job well done. He got so involved in his imaginary battle that he nearly shot Draco's head off when it peered around the door.

'You left your map in here last night,' the blond brandished it as a shield. 'It makes some interesting reading.' He moved to recline on a bench, lying languidly stretched out and holding the parchment in the air above him. 'I noticed you weren't with your partners in crime, who are currently on Weasley's bed. Tête à tête or lovemaking, I could not tell you.'

Harry made a retching noise, repositioning a stuffed foe to standing position. 'They're upset with me,' he confided, wiping sweat from his temple with his robe sleeve.

'And anger makes the Weasel randy, perhaps?' Draco muttered to himself then spluttered in disgust. 'I did not intend to give myself that mental image.'

Harry chuckled, and tried not to think of it himself, especially since it could be taking place in the room he himself slept in. 'Yeah, I don't really appreciate it either.' He sat on the bench next to Draco, and the other boy propped his feet up on his unsuspecting lap with a dramatic sigh. Harry gave him a mock glare of offense but left them there anyway. 'Since you're here, you should put some effort in too,' he said as he picked at the neatly bowed laces of Draco's shoes, the leather perfectly shined and a universe away from Harry's own dirty trainers.

'I'm not sure I want to know what you have in mind,' he replied, obscured by the expanse of the map. He lifted it to eye Harry in suspicion. 'I'm not running about. I just did my hair.'

Harry sniggered and unceremoniously shoved Draco's feet off, walking over to the model while removing his robe. He draped it over the stuffed figure, hood up and pulled low down over the blank face. He burned a couple of smudges with his wand into the cloth as eyes for good measure. 'Patronus practice.'

Draco let out a low moan, dropping the map onto his face in defeat.

'Come on.' Harry poked at him, catching a flailing arm and dragging him to stand. 'No boggart this time, just working on the happy thought.'

'My happy thought is not having to do this,' Draco muttered, taking off his own robe and revealing his smart, cleanly pressed weekend clothes to Harry, who felt all the more scruffy in his own jumper and jeans.

'Come on,' Harry repeated, sniggering at his downbeat expression. 'It just takes practice.'

'Yes, but how much practice? I may leave this room with a beard,' Draco moaned, rubbing his palm to his jaw. 'And I wouldn't suit it at all.'

'It'll be fine,' Harry soothed, standing next to him and brandishing his wand. 'Here, remember the movement. _Expecto patronum!' _A familiar ethereal smoke flowed from Harry's wand tip, swirling and spreading to form the indistinct shape of his stag patronus. It shook gently, swaying its head in a slow arc, eyeing them both and shifting impatiently on its hooves. Draco reached out, and with trepidation he traced the phantom line of an antler with one finger. The stag shifted its muzzle as if to catch Draco's outstretched palm, and dissipated as Harry ended the spell.

'A stag,' Draco murmured.

'My dad's animagus form,' Harry muttered, fiddling with his wand. Draco hummed in consideration.

'What's your happy thought?'

'It's a bit hard to think of one,' he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. 'A lot of things are tainted now, by the war. It's easier to focus on something simple. Mine is how I felt when I first got a jumper from Ron's mum, back in first year.' He smiled to himself. Draco gave him a long look. Harry coughed. 'It had a big H on it,' he mumbled.

Draco smiled at him, but it quickly soured as he looked at the space the stag had occupied. 'How do you know what form it takes?'

'You don't, until you see it. You just need a strong memory.'

Draco sighed, spinning his wand between his fingers. 'It would be just my luck for it to be a ferret.' He looked so disheartened by the idea that Harry had to try to avoid laughing and upsetting him.

'It probably won't be something you really don't want it to be,' he thought aloud. 'Your magic wouldn't protect you in the form of something you hated.'

'I do hope not, since it would be terribly embarrassing to have a peacock for a patronus,' Draco smirked at him, and Harry sniggered.

'You do preen a lot,' he returned, and got a sharp smack to the arm. 'Let's try, then. Can you think of a memory that might work?'

'Maybe,' Draco looked unsure, but took a determined stance anyway. 'Alright – _Expecto patronum!' _

There was a grand wisp of smoke, but with no determinable shape. Draco narrowed his eyes, and tried again, this time producing an undulating swirl of movement but yet again with no singular design to it. He sighed, and looked at Harry's encouraging smile. He took a deep breath, stared at the cloaked figure of the mock Dementor, then closed his eyes. On that final try, the thick, free flowing cloud seemed to solidify for just a moment, before dissipating once more into nothing.

Both of them squinted at the empty space it left. 'Any idea what that was?'

'None whatsoever,' Harry admitted, reaching to squeeze his shoulder in reassurance. 'But it was something. We're getting there, the memory just needs to be stronger.'

Draco stalked away to slump inelegantly down on the bench again, smoothing a hand over his perfectly static hairdo. 'In that case, I may need to create a new one. I find myself struggling to think of anything else.'

'That could work,' Harry joined him of the bench and tried to sound encouraging. 'What memory did you try there?' Draco just tapped the side of his nose.

'If I tell you that, it may lose its power,' he warned.

'I'm pretty sure that's birthday wishes.'

* * *

Harry gave up on spell practice pretty quickly after that, Draco refusing to continue his attempts on his patronus, invoking his need to find a happier, more useful memory first. Instead, they sat side by side on the bench they had transfigured into a more comfortable sofa-like seat, too lazy to entirely leave the room and re-enter it transformed for a different purpose, and as Harry suspected in Draco's case, slightly less than eager to venture out into the real world of the castle once more.

'Have you seen McGonagall yet?' Harry asked, as he poked Draco on the back of the hand he was using to flip over the folds of the map, which they'd spent the last half an hour giggling at in a completely manly fashion.

Draco hissed, a long and low sound, glaring at him threateningly. Harry just tilted his head in earnest.

'Sorry, I didn't understand that. They mustn't teach Parseltongue very well in Slytherin,' he scratched at his jaw in mock thought. 'Your pronunciation was all wrong.'

'Allow me to translate, then; 'fuck off'.'

'Draaacooo,' Harry whined, scooting closer to him on their seat. 'You need to go. I admit I don't usually go to Professors about stuff, but this is important.'

Draco leaned back, spreading his arm across the back of the chair and giving Harry an underwhelmed look. 'So, when you Granger and Weasel trompe about behind their backs, getting into trouble, it's because what you're doing isn't important.' Harry winced, but remained determined.

'I can't just go and sort out Nott myself,' he reasoned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. 'Much as I want to, honestly.'

'Let's be honest, Potter,' Draco drawled as he reclined with an air of contempt. 'You probably could. But McGonagall can't. I'd just single myself out even more.' He rubbed a hand across his eyes and sighed. 'If I'm careful, I can defend myself against Nott; one person isn't so much of a problem. He just caught me by surprise.'

'And he'll do it again,' Harry growled. His serious expression was entirely ruined by Draco patting him patronizingly on the head.

'And I'll be fine.'

'Yeah, you will,' Harry grunted as he stood up and stomped around his practice space. 'Because I'll make sure of it.' He sullenly kicked one of the dummies, watching it wobble precariously.

'Excuse me, Golden Prick,' Draco snapped, moving to stand with his chin raised in disgust. 'I have at no point asked for your help, nor do I need you to give it.'

'I want to give it, you dick,' Harry grabbed him by the shoulders, barely stopping himself from trying to shake some sense into him. 'I have to! You could have died last time!'

He moved one hand to gently draw the pad of his thumb over the thin white line of his healed wound, barely visible against the pale skin of Draco's neck. Draco's stony expression cracked slightly at the unexpected contact; he moved one hand to grasp Harry's own, but didn't pull it away from his throat.

'Don't you realize that an attempt to oust Nott from the castle might make me more vulnerable to attacks like that?' His tone was contemptuous, but his gaze was imploring as he caught Harry's eyes with his own. 'I can stand a chance against Nott alone, especially now that I know his game. Against an unknown number who want revenge, I may not be so lucky,' he added, and squeezed Harry's hand. 'Even with your protection.'

Harry just stared, first at their joined hands and then into Draco's eyes, looking for something in his expression. Draco's own eyes then widened when he heard Harry sigh and felt himself being drawn into a hug. 'Are you alright?' He asked, slightly warily, and brought up his free arm to pat the other boy awkwardly on the back.

'Fine,' he felt Harry mumble into his shoulder. 'I'm just not sure what to do.'

Draco rolled his eyes, and spun them to drop Harry down to sit on the seat behind him. 'You'll do what I say.'

'Malfoy – Draco. If Nott tries again, I might kill him.' Harry looked imploringly up at him, as if what he said was less a threat and more an unfortunate fact.

'I would implore you not to, since he wouldn't be worth it,' Draco soothed, inelegantly throwing himself down to sit next to Harry with a thud. 'I'm not sure even you would get away with murder, and Azkaban is truly unpleasant.'

'I might not be able to help it,' Harry mumbled. 'My magic's been a bit weird, since, well. You know.'

Draco's curiosity was peaked. 'By 'weird', you mean what exactly?'

Harry heaved a deep sigh.'I meant to push him a bit back, last time. Not throw him into the wall,' He stared at his hands. He hadn't really discussed this with Hermione and Ron, since his spells seemed generally under control. 'I hadn't even drawn my wand.'

Draco whistled. 'Yes. That is unusual.'

'It's not really been a big deal, since it's been generally fine,' Harry picked at his nails. 'I just can't predict it very well now.' He felt increasingly uncomfortable, and tried to reconsider the previous problem. 'Wouldn't McGonagall kicking him out of school scare them out of trying to hurt you?'

'Have you ever avoided doing something you wanted to do, just because someone told you not to?' Draco snorted. 'No, Nott's attitude isn't a particularly unusual one, at least among Slytherins. Acting against him is very likely to make him a martyr.'

'But I can't just sit by and wait for him to attack you again,' Harry implored.

'As I said before, Potter, you do not need to. I can handle it by myself.' Draco made a gesture for Harry's silence when he opened his mouth to reply. 'Ah, ah. I know what he's doing, now.'

'Unless next time he decides to poison you or tamper with your broom at Quidditch practice,' Harry's tone was sharp; he felt like this was the worst conceivable situation for Draco's arrogance to mar his judgement.

'Perhaps,' Draco's tone was confident but his eyes showed something different entirely, and Harry knew he'd made a breakthrough. 'I shall just have to protect myself from all possible attacks.'

'And start drinking from a flask and relying on a Foe-Glass like Mad Eye?' Draco just glared at him, and Harry sighed. 'What would scare your other house-mates away from retribution?'

Draco gave him a sharp, considering look from the corner of his eye, but sat back and thought about the question. 'Perhaps, if it was obvious they were wasting their time they wouldn't bother. Or that they would definitely be caught. But achieving either is impossible.'

'Maybe,' Harry mumbled, but his confidence was also almost non-existent. He wasn't usually the one to come up with the clever schemes and save the day; if Hermione hadn't been livid with him, she'd have been his first port of call.

'Oh, don't worry your pretty head about it.' Draco gave him a patronizing pat on his hair – unflatteringly wayward, as usual – and gracefully dodged the arm swung his way, catching it in a gesture Harry was becoming increasingly familiar with. He watched in the gentle, brittle silence as Draco smoothed a thumb pad over the pale, smoother skin of the inside of his forearm, but seemed to be looking off into the distance. 'Hey, Potter.'

'Yup?'

'Why are you helping me?' His grey eyes flicked up and Harry was suddenly on the receiving end of an unwavering stare that made him shift in his seat.

'Um,' Harry was in unknown waters. He knew for sure there was a wrong thing to say, kind of like when Hermione was angry about something. He just didn't have a clue what it was. 'Because we're friends?'

'And why, exactly, are we friends?' Draco's eyes were dark, and sharp, and Harry was just the tiniest bit scared.

Wait, he could get this one. 'Because I like you.' Good one, Harry.

'Yes. I'm beginning to wonder if you've been the recent recipient of a head injury,' Draco drawled, tilting his head back to give Harry a considering look. 'It's certainly an unusual stance to be taking, given the circumstances.'

'You saved my life, once. Remember?' Harry retrieved his captive arm to press both fists to his cheeks, distorting his face in a way he belatedly hoped would remind Draco of the stinging hex and not just make him look like an idiot.

Draco slanted one eyebrow in derisive humor. 'And not long afterwards, you saved mine. We're even. You don't need to keep me as a trophy.'

Harry was surprised and a little bit offended by that. 'Merlin, I'm not that much of a twat, Malfoy.'

'Other people would be.' Draco shifted back and gave him a long look down his nose. 'Anybody else would have constantly reminded me to be grateful I'm not in prison with my father.'

'You don't deserve to be in prison,' Harry protested. He pointedly did not comment on whether Lucius Malfoy did; a pretty obvious topic for a fight.

'How do you know?' Draco barked, and jerked up to begin pacing the room. 'Need I remind you, I nearly killed Dumbledore! And a few other people along the way.' His tone was sharp but he looked tired as he scraped a hand through his hair.

'I know that. I was there,' Harry rubbed his face with both hands, slumping back against the chair.

'Don't tell lies, Potter,' Draco snapped around to face him, angry and with his hands balled into fists.

'I'm not lying. I was...' Harry wasn't sure the best way to go about this; he'd started it now, but he couldn't exactly finish without risking a few choice details he'd agreed with Hermione and Ron were best left secret, so knowledge of the atrocity of the Horcrux magic could die with them. That was the reason it hadn't come up before now, in the trials; they didn't want anybody to ask why Harry had been there in the first place. 'I was under a body bind. Dumbledore – he didn't want me to interfere. I think he'd decided it had to happen as it did.' Talking about it was bringing back painful memories. He looked at Draco, and the pale shine of his hair flashed images of a ghostly King's Cross to Harry, who shoved his knuckles into his eyes in response.

'He's still dead.'

'Yes. And I as much killed him as you did.' Harry felt sick now. He both didn't want to talk about it at all, and felt an overwhelming need to emphatically assure Draco of his lack of blame; maybe because he wanted someone to do the same to him.

'What are you talking about?'

'I'd been with him, before the Death Eaters arrived. We'd been doing something to try – we'd been...' Harry sighed. 'It was something to do with defeating Voldemort.' Harry sighed again at Draco's pained flinch. 'Sorry. Anyway, Dumbledore had already been cursed, and poisoned. And you know Snape had to make an Unbreakable vow. They both knew Dumbledore was going to die.'

'But how does that make you in any way responsible?'

'I had something to do with the poisoning. That's all I'm saying.' At Draco's step forward, mouth opening, Harry held out an urgent hand. 'No. Really.'

'Potter...'

'I can't tell you,' Harry implored. 'I'm sorry – I just can't. You just need to know... It wasn't your fault.'

He watched as Draco paused, mouth clicking shut. He shot him a desperate look, silently pleading him to understand. Draco moved to sit beside him, staring out into the room.

'Well.' He cleared his throat. 'Alright.'

'Thanks,' Harry murmured. Draco looked at him. Harry was then surprised to find himself being pulled into a hug. 'Thanks,' he mumbled again into Draco's shoulder.

* * *

_Note: We're slowly but surely getting there with the boys, I promise. There's just a lot to talk about first! Please do review if you have the time. I'm very glad to receive feedback, both positive and critical :)_


	7. Chapter 7

**Under the Influence**

**Summary: Harry is out of sorts, and it provides an opportunity Draco didn't even know he needed. HPDM, Post War/'Eighth' Year.**

_Author: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters therein._

* * *

_Chapter Seven – Communication_

Ron was waiting for Harry on his bed when he returned to his dormitory.

'Hey, mate.'

Harry was so overwhelmed with surprise and relief that he stumbled a bit setting down his bag, and flashed his friend a grateful smile as he divested himself of his robes.

'Hi,' he replied, shuffling over to join him on the mattress. He spoke quietly, the only other occupant of the room being a sleeping Neville. 'Look, Ron...'

'Nah, Harry. It's alright.' Ron fidgeted with the fraying seam of his jumper cuff. 'Well, with me. Hermione isn't happy. I mean, with you.'

Harry cringed, and focused awkwardly on his own hands. 'I know. It's just -'

'You should probably talk to her, mate, not me. I wasn't sure, but I think I get it. Malfoy was as stuck with everything as we were. And, well, he's still a git, but that's your problem.' Ron flashed him a weak smile. 'But we both felt a bit abandoned, you know? Hermione's really worried about NEWTS and everything, and you up and disappear on us, and well...'

'I know, yeah. I've been a dick.'

'Yeah, maybe.' The smile turned into a grin. 'If you spend another year running around after Malfoy, we might think you're in love with him,' Ron snorted, and jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. Harry winced. 'Just, talk to her.'

'Yeah, I will.' Harry gave him a defeated smile.

'Good. You can start by telling us where you've been,' Hermione sauntered in, arms heavy with library books. She had a haughty expression on her partly obscured face, but it lost some of the arrogance when she noticed Neville sprawled inelegantly out on his bed. She awkwardly reached for the wand shoved up her sleeve, and fired off a silencing charm just in time for one book in her pile to slide free and topple to the floor with a thud. 'Shoot.'

Harry almost tripped over himself in his eagerness to pick it up for her – it didn't hurt to be on Hermione's good side, but it was cold and bleak on her bad one – and was relieved by the warm smile he got in return.

'Yeah, mate,' Ron chipped in, distracted from his disbelieving look at her haul. 'There's, um, a few rumours going around.' He coughed and scratched at stubbly chin, avoiding both Harry and Hermione's eyes. 'Not that I believe them.'

'And I do hope it was something worthwhile enough to miss our revision meetings for,' Hermione said, constructing a book tower on Ron's bedside table as he looked on in dismay.

'I wasn't lying when I said I was working, honestly,' he implored. 'Malfoy's been in the Room practising for exams, and he's helped me out a lot.'

'But?' Hermione pressed, joining them on Harry's four-poster and frowning at him, though she looked more curious and less angry than Harry was expecting.

'Malfoy's not safe,' he ran a hand absent-mindedly though his hair, face twisting in worry. 'Theodore Nott attacked him on Friday. I had to carry him to the Infirmary.'

Hermione gasped, and the book on her lap was pushed aside urgently as she leaned towards him. 'Is he alright?'

'He – Nott sliced his neck open. I saw them on the map and I ran down...' Harry swallowed thickly. The image of Draco, his skin a sickly white and his eyes tightly shut as he was pressed up against the wall, danced about in his mind. He felt an echo of the anger and worry that had pulsed out from his chest in a fierce wave, and had thrown Nott across the corridor. 'I haven't seen Nott since. Pomfrey told him to report it, but he hasn't – he says they'll only want to hurt him more for ratting him out.'

'Harry, the Headmistress needs to know,' Hermione implored.

'I know,' Harry rubbed his eyes in frustration. 'Believe me, I've said. Malfoy just won't do it.'

'Then you should,' Hermione reached over to grip his hand, which he had subconsciously tightly balled into a fist, as Ron nodded in agreement. 'You were there, too.'

'You need to, mate. Nott might hurt someone else, too. He might have even cast that charm on you.'

Harry twisted his face. 'I don't know if I can go behind his back like that. He says they'll just try harder if he tells. He... I don't want him to get hurt again.'

Hermione's face was soft as she smoothed a thumb over his knuckles in a motherly gesture, but Harry saw the curiosity creep back in again. 'Harry, why have you been spending so much time with him?'

Harry stared fixedly at their conjoined hands, feeling the slightest warmth of a flush creep in to his cheeks despite his mind's preoccupation with worrying. 'I dunno,' he murmured. 'He's still a git, I guess. We haven't exactly talked politics,' he added, at Ron's incredulous snort. 'I guess that's it. He's just more interested in working and keeping his head down, I think. He was livid when there were Slytherins at our Seeker's game, even though he won.' But the after match conversation had been interesting. Harry's flush grew darker.

'I still can't believe that,' Ron muttered, and was poked sharply in the arm by his girlfriend. Harry sent him a sheepish smile.

'Are you getting on?' Hermione bluntly interjected.

Yeah, I guess. We're helping each-other with work, and he hasn't insulted my mother yet.' And said I was his only friend, Harry thought. It felt too private to say that, even to his best friends.

'Well, that's a good sign, I suppose.' Hermione sighed, and released his hand to smooth a fingertip thoughtfully over the cover of her book. 'You must get him to report Nott, then.' She slapped her palm down decisively. Ron patted him on the shoulder.

'Yeah, mate. No point in befriending the tosser for him to go and get bumped off.' Harry gave him a sad smile.

'Right, boys – bedtime,' Hermione announced, with all the spirit of Mrs Weasley herself. Ron moaned but dutifully loped off to his own bed to root around haplessly for his pyjamas.

'Thanks,' Harry yawned out.

'Oh, Harry. We love you, remember,' Hermione smiled. 'Just so long as you take your exams seriously.' She drew him into a quick hug, glided over to peck Ron on the cheek, and disappeared out of the door.

* * *

Ron quickly dozed off after they settled into their respective beds, but Harry couldn't turn his brain off. It kept flitting around each and every unsettlingly pin sharp memory of every interaction with Draco he'd ever had.

A little, pointy child in a robe shop, all sharp angles and youthful arrogance.

The look of unbridled surprise on a gaunt face as blood sprayed in a sickly arc from his chest, leeching across his pristine white school shirt.

A dazed, unfocused look in his eye as he prodded a weeping wound, panting in pain.

A bold, warm chuckle as Harry performed abysmally at brewing a potion, shrugging and laughing at himself.

Were they friends? He'd been looking at the other boy as almost a new person. When they talked, did he really remember the pasty, bratty boy of third year who tried to get Hagrid fired from the job he loved?

But, they understood each other. Harry had made a surrogate family with Ron and Hermione, and they'd been by his side every second they could, and he felt safe with them because of everything they shared.

Draco was like that, too. He knew the fear Harry knew, perhaps more so than Cho or Neville or maybe even Ginny.

Ginny didn't understand him like Draco did.

Harry fell asleep to the sound of that chuckle, the flash of silver-blond hair, and the pearly opalescence of a thin scar as it flowed over a cream-toned shoulder.

* * *

'Do you sleep here?'

Draco was poised over a silver cauldron opposite him, one hand held in a calculated manner over the rim while the other juggled an unwieldy hourglass and his wand. Harry received a glare for his interruption of a delicate process. 'Yes, if you must know.'

'Because it's safer?'

Draco quickly overturned his pot of crushed eagle talons, tapped the cauldron three times in quick succession with his wand tip, then smoothly flipped the timer, slumping back in relief when he was done. He turned back to his book, only remembering Harry's question when jerked back into focus by a polite cough.

'I can protect myself adequately in my dormitory. Here, it's just easier to relax.' Harry nodded in understanding, fidgeting with the discarded pot.

They sat in silence for a while, Harry quietly flipping through a textbook, until Draco became suspicious at the lack of further inappropriately timed queries.

'Hermione and Ron think you should report Nott too.'

Draco dropped the stirring rod he was retrieving with a clatter. He slowly turned to face Harry, bracing the heels of his hands on the corner of the work top, pushing all of his weight against it at an aggressive angle, and glowered. Harry tried to remain unapologetic in the face of an obvious scolding.

'That isn't any of their business, Potter,' Draco spat, and the added emphasis on his name through Harry into an inappropriate moment of nostalgia. 'If you're going to continue along that line of discussion, you may show yourself out. Now.'

'Draco -'

'NO, Potter, don't 'Draco' me. Frankly, I'm disgusted at being the topic of idle gossip between you and your little followers,' Draco spat out the word 'gossip' with unbridled venom, and violently slammed his book closed, accidentally knocking over a jar of feathers in the process.

'We weren't gossiping about you.' He followed closely at the other boy's heels as he stalked over to fetch his bag, vanishing his potion with a sweeping gesture over the shoulder. 'Wait!'

'Why, exactly?' Draco rounded on him with a mockingly quizzical expression, looping the bag strap over his lean torso and crossing his arms across his chest. 'Hmm?'

'Erm,' Harry bodily blocked his way as his mind worked. 'Oh! Hey, didn't we have a deal?'

'I do not need your aid in my patronus tonight, nor are you contributing greatly to my search for a fitting memory,' Draco sneered.

'I didn't mean that – and I'm sorry. I meant the deal where you saw McGonagall, and I told you that thing...' Harry's voice trailed off as he watched Draco's face melt from angry, to confused, and then finally to thoughtful.

'The Weasley thing.'

'Um, maybe?'

'The she-Weasley thing,' Draco clarified.

'If you have to call her that,' Harry mumbled, but nodded.

'Hmm,' Draco considered him, giving him a sideways look. Harry marvelled at how quickly his moods changed.

'You'd forgotten?'

'Perhaps,' Draco conceded, replacing his bag on the floor and looking forlornly at his empty cauldron.

'So you'll go?'

'Certainly not,' he snapped back, pushing past to stalk back to his abandoned work.

'Why not?' Harry whined, shuffling after him.

'Because knowledge of your sex life will do me no good if I'm dead,' Draco stated simply as he scratched notes in an elegant loopy script onto a scrap of parchment.

'Even if it's really interesting?'

Harry peered over his shoulder to watch him write, and his glasses were nearly knocked flying when Draco suddenly turned, immediately bringing to attention how close he'd inadvertently gotten. Draco gave him a small, amused smile, and reached out with one thin finger, slowly pushing the frames back to rest properly on Harry's face. He then used the same finger to press gently at Harry's chest, forcing him to take a step back.

'Even then,' he gave a slight nod. 'In either case, I believe I may be able to deduce it for myself.'

'And if I tell you you won't be able to?' Harry challenged him furrowed brows.

Draco hummed in consideration, then stepped forward, quickly closing the gap between them until their noses nearly touched. Harry felt warm breath against his bottom lip, and froze. From this close, he could see individual silvery blond eyelashes, and the dark steel ring of colour that bordered sky-grey irises. 'Then you'd be lying,' Draco whispered.

He then shattered the tension by flashing Harry a Cheshire cat grin and flitting away, grabbing a jar on his route to replace in the store room.

Harry slumped down onto a stool and let out a gust of air.

Then he re-adjusted his trousers.

* * *

'Heavens no, Harry, don't add the fangs yet,' Hermione batted his hand away, flustered and red cheeked as she ran a hand frantically through her mass of hair.

Harry forlornly watched her retreating back as she shuffled off towards her own potion, and stared desperately at his own, willing it to somehow tell him what to do itself in words he could understand. All it gave him was a few bubbles rising lazily to the surface, popping and splattering dirty yellow-green liquid on the front of his robes. He re-read the instructions, squinted at the blackboard, searched desperately for the tiniest morsel of understanding in his brain, sighed with defeat and looked up to try and catch Hermione's eye again. He hated Potions.

Instead, his gaze caught on a lonely Draco, holed away in the back corner of the room. He was flipping nonchalantly through the textbook, his potion simmering gently next to him. He looked up as if he felt the weight of Harry's inspection and shot him a look of amused contempt.

Help me, Harry tried to convey with his eyes.

Not likely, Draco's eyes replied.

Harry brought out the big guns – he took off his glasses, unenthusiastically trying to rub them clear of smears. He tilted his head, widened his eyes and pleaded silently with all his might.

Draco looked unimpressed, and flicked over a page.

Harry stuck out his bottom lip.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Harry gave up, replacing his glasses and slumping his shoulders forward in defeat. He'd just have to fail this one, then. He turned back to his awful potion, accidentally nudged a vial and inelegantly flailed trying to catch it. He huffed in embarrassment and self pity, reaching to place the vial in a safer spot further away. And caught his robe sleeve on fire. Shit.

'_Aguamenti_,' intoned a familiar drawl, vibrating in a low rumble next to his ear. The small jet doused the flame quickly, but unfortunately also soaked Harry's already illegible notes. 'What a shame.'

'Thank you,' Harry sighed in relief. He looked hopefully at Draco, at his cauldron, then at Draco again. Draco sighed.

'Have I not helped you enough?'

'No,' Harry agreed, and received a jab on his arm with a wand tip. 'Pleeeease?'

Draco's response was to look around for Slughorn – who was happily preoccupied with lecturing Ron on the number of currently active Aurors of whom he had the pleasure of nurturing, poor git – and drop down onto the empty stool next to him. 'You exploit me, you know.'

'We both know you want to help me,' Harry replied, doe eyed.

'Don't push it, Potter.' Draco jabbed him again, this time in the ribs, Harry cried out, indignant, but Draco just ignored him. 'Now, what in Merlin's name did you do to it?'

'I don't know,' Harry moaned. Draco drummed his fingers against the line of his jaw in thought.

'When did you add the tails?'

'When Hermione told me to?' Harry winced at his expression.

'Good god, Potter.' Draco tried to dry off his notes, squinting at the chicken scratch handwriting. 'I think you may have added nettle fibre instead of lovage – which is why it has gone so viscous.'

'Oh,' Harry inspected his ingredients. 'So, why has it gone all vomit coloured?'

Draco snorted. 'Because you didn't mix it enough – your quarter-stirs must be too short. Lovely description, by the way.'

'Well, you knew what I meant,' Harry said defensively, fiddling with his stirring rod until Draco took it gently from him and proceeded to rap him lightly on the head with it, starting slightly when they heard Hermione's quiet giggle. Harry watched Draco visibly prevent himself from turning to glare at her, and sniggered, which earned him another blow to the head.

Harry keened, and gave Draco a wounded look, who just rolled his eyes again and turned his attention to the unlikely to be salvageable mess that was Harry's creation.

They both then did jump at Slughorn's bellowing greeting to a visitor to the classroom. 'Ah, Headmistress! To which purpose do we owe the pleasure?'

'If I may converse with you outside, Professor?' Minerva McGonagall's expression was severe, as always, and she was dressed in her customary flowing black robes. Harry caught her eye, as he usually did when he saw her, but her usual small smile of acknowledgement was absent – instead, it was replaced by the tight eyes and lips indicative of worry. Harry felt unsettled by the sight, and watched her closely as she glided out of the door, Slughorn in tow.

He saw another worried face as he turned to meet Hermione's eye, too. He supposed that meant he could rule out her involvement. Draco, however, just looked angry.

Harry opened his mouth to deny wrongdoing, but Draco slid away to return to his own potion before he had the chance to speak a word.

* * *

Draco didn't speak, or meet his eye, as they were both escorted towards the Headmistress's office post lesson, despite his desperate attempts to prompt conversation, albeit a censored one with being in earshot of Minerva.

She left them waiting outside the office, and Harry paced to and fro, scuffing his shoes on the carpet until Fawkes was woken by the noise and squawked indignantly from his perch.

'Sorry,' Harry replied to him. He shuffled over to the phoenix and ran the pad of his thumb over the crest of Fawkes' head, as the bird keened and leaned into his touch, fluttering his wings with the soft whisper of shifting feathers. 'You're looking old,' Harry muttered, smoothing his palm over the glittering, shifting shape of the bird's wing.

'Yet another useless beast you're friends with, I see,' Draco bit out at him from his seat in a worn armchair.

Harry clenched his teeth, and whirled round to face him, his fingers twitching to reach over and grab him by the shoulders. 'Watch it, Malfoy.'

'You've all but signed my death warrant, Chosen Twat,' Draco snapped, and made a show of twirling his wand between his fingers. 'I can say whatever I like.'

'I didn't tell her!' Harry stormed over towards him, but stopped abruptly when Draco twitched in surprise at the sudden movement and pointed his wand at Harry out of reflex. They both paused at the escalation of the situation, but Draco just narrowed his eyes and held the wand with more confidence, like it was what he'd intended to do.

'I didn't tell her,' Harry repeated, defeated. That reaction – the kind sub-conscious move towards self preservation he assumed many people were left with, after the war – spoke volumes to him about how comfortable Draco really was near him. Or how he wasn't comfortable at all.

Draco didn't trust him, didn't feel safe around him; Harry's chest felt tight. He swallowed. 'I'm not going to hurt you,' he whispered.

Draco's confidence faltered, and he slowly lowered his wand to rest his hand stiffly on his thigh. Harry couldn't help but notice the tip was still pointed at him. Draco set his jaw, and glowered. 'That doesn't mean someone else won't.'

Harry advanced slowly, padding one foot in front of the other, until his outreached hand could rest gently on the arm of Draco's chair. Draco stared up into his eyes, and after a few moments Harry was silently overjoyed to see his hardened posture relax and his eyebrows separate slowly.

Draco closed his eyes and breathed purposefully in and out a few times, as Harry watched his his head bob minutely up and down in parallel with his chest. When he re-opened his eyes Harry found himself on the end of a hard, unforgiving look. 'Don't say anything.'

Harry's face fell. Right there presented in front of him was his ticket to buying Draco's trust; a perfect proof of his commitment to friendship and loyalty. He had to take it. He didn't want to take it. Harry nodded, and Draco sighed in relief.

The headmistress eased open the door adjoining the waiting room and the office – Harry would always think of it as Dumbledore's office, no matter how much he respected McGonagall's authority and skill in her promoted role – and beckoned them to quickly enter and not to dawdle.

Harry's first impulse was to seek out the old headmaster's portrait, and he had often done in the late summer as they repaired the castle and Harry frequently visited the office for interviews, consultations and other duties he had apparently qualified for buy simply surviving. As usual, Dumbledore was in a soft slumber, head tilted to rest on his shoulder, hands neatly tucked under his great white beard. Harry, still incumbent with mixed and painful feelings, was only slightly disappointed.

'I was visited this morning,' Minerva began after ushering them to be seated, 'by Madame Pomfrey.'

Draco let out a huffing breath and Harry nearly slapped his knee in an inappropriate show of sudden realisation.

'She was quite surprised I had not visited her sooner,' she continued, shifting in her seat to lean across to them from behind her desk, fingers interlaced and her weight elegantly pressed on her elbows. 'She informed me she had recently had the honour of seeing the both of you, and that she was required to repair a nasty cut that you, Mr Malfoy, had sustained.'

Draco's eye twitched.

'I didn't think I'd need to remind you young men – either of you,' she emphasised, giving a firm look at Harry, 'that the two of you sparring with each other is as unnecessary as it is fruitless. However, Poppy tells me you informed her, Mr Potter, that Mr Malfoy had been under attack at the hands of another student.'

Harry took his cue to look uncomfortable, and steadfastly avoided the hard stare he knew he was getting from the blond at his side.

'So why, might I inquire, have neither of you been to speak to me, of any other Professors, about this?'

There was an awkward, poignant silence that seemed to ring out in the office, reverberating off the odd solar dials and trinkets that Minerva seemed determined to retain as part of Dumbledore's legacy.

She sighed loudly at the lack of response, and fidgeted with her pince-nez in an uncharacteristically flustered movement. 'Might I ask now, do either of you have any incidents which you wish to report, to me or any other member of staff? A physical altercation, insult?'

The silence seemed to echo louder this time. Harry stared resolutely at a candle.

'I must say, boys, I cannot do anything if I have no knowledge of anything,' Minerva sighed again, trying to gain eye contact with either of them and failing. 'Harry, I would like to point out that not every trial must be endured alone.'

Harry nearly burst at her imploring gaze, and tried not to see the disappointment in her expression. He hated having to do that to her – hated that she might now think he didn't consider her to be up to her role, and didn't respect her ability to protect him and other students.

Malfoy had better appreciate what he was doing for him. Harry hated nothing more than hurting people.

* * *

The headmistress released them just in time to be too late for their last lessons of the day to make it worthwhile going. Harry moaned when he realised that – not only was Hermione going to take notes of Defence for him, word for word, but she'd also insist on reading it to him, and quizzing him on the content when she was finished.

Last time, when Ron had had a stomach bug and had missed a morning Potions lesson, he'd actually hidden under Seamus's bed for two hours trying to avoid her.

Harry told himself that that was the reason he followed Draco back to the Room of Requirement, despite how unwelcome the other boy was making him feel. Harry didn't feel very charitable towards him, either.

'You owe me,' he grandly announced, bored of sulking into his textbook while Draco brewed something he didn't recognise, all the while pretending he didn't exist.

Draco just grunted in response, aggressively grinding something in his pestle and mortar and glaring at his hands like they'd done something to personally offend him.

No point in being civil, then. Harry was angry, and he had the unpleasant desire to push some buttons. 'Were you going to hex me?'

'Potty, you should be grateful every minute of every day I'm _not _hexing you,' Draco hissed, refusing to raise his head and grinding his pestle harder with the rhythm of dull thuds echoing across the room.

'Why?' Harry snapped, setting his book down with a clap of binding on wood. 'I haven't done anything wrong!'

He started when Draco actually threw the pestle in his hand at the floor, jumping at the crashing noise and watching stunned as it rolled away from their feet. 'Really? Nothing wrong, Potter?' Draco growled, stalking over to poke him sharply in the middle of his chest. 'You follow me around, get involved in my business, and get annoyed when I don't do what you say!'

Harry was thrown back with the force of Draco's hand, as his prod escalated to a strong push that sent him into the bench behind him. He felt the jarring pain of the corner against his hip and snarled back at him. 'I'm only trying to help you!'

'No, Potter. What you're doing,' Draco hissed as he advanced on him, eyes on fire, 'is pitying me, offering me your friendship like it's some fucking prize, and getting annoyed when I don't act as grateful as you want me to!'

'I don't pity you!' Harry protested, reeling with the accusation.

'Of course you don't. Poor little Malfoy, all alone, nothing left but a nifty tattoo – let's rescue him! It's where you get your kicks, isn't it, Potter?'

'What – don't be fucking ridiculous! Oh, sure, that's why I did everything I did. Not because he killed my parents and made me a fucking Horcrux, no! It's because it helped me wank off!'

'That's exactly what – wait, what?'

Oh _shit. _'Nothing,' Harry muttered, pulling away to flee out of the door and away from the mess of the situation in front of him.

'Nooooo, Potter,' Draco roughly grabbed his arm, yanking him back against the bench. 'Did you say he made you a Horcrux?'

'Fine, yes, I did. No, I won't tell you what one is. I need to go,' Harry yanked ineffectually at the steel hold Draco had on his arm, gripping so tight it hurt.

'Ha, Potter. I don't need you to tell me.' Draco bit his bottom tip, huffing through his nose and grabbing Harry's jaw with his free hand to turn his head side to side, looking at him like he'd changed before his eyes.

'What?' Harry panicked, and tried to escape again before admitting defeat. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean, I know what that means,' Draco muttered, staring at his scar. 'Well. That makes things different.'

'It doesn't, at all,' Harry protested, batting his hand away. 'I'm the same person. I've always been me.'

Draco suddenly dropped his arm, backing away and eyeing him with a a drained complexion and suspicious eyes. 'Does that mean he's still,' he swallowed, 'in you?'

'No! Merlin, no,' Harry felt sick seeing Draco regress to a nervous, sickly expression. 'It's dead.'

'But you're alive,' Draco pointed out, prodding him as if to test his theory.

'Yeah. He tried to kill me, and killed the bit of himself. I died for a bit though I think,' Harry rubbed at his eyes with the pads of his fingers, leaning back against the bench. This wasn't something he'd ever expected to have to explain again.

'You actually died?' Draco whispered. 'My mother said you were alive.'

'Maybe, I'm not sure. Look, it's not important – what's important is that you don't tell anyone about Horcruxes, ever. At all.' Harry seized him by his biceps and held him still as he tried to stare the words directly into his brain.

'Circe. Only you would manage that, Potter.'

'Yes, it was really, really fun.'

Draco lent into him, eyes darting over his face from a few inches away. 'What happened?'

'I saw King's Cross, had a chat with Dumbledore, saw the weird dying bit of Voldemort. The end.'

'You're not lying,' Draco observed.

'No, because lying about that would be strange.'

'Yes.' Draco agreed. He stalked over to a stool and sat down, like he'd received momentous news. 'You're full of surprises.'

'You have no idea how much I wish I wasn't,' Harry snorted, joining him on the stool beside him.

Draco fidgeted a little, stood up and seemed to shuffle about a bit in indecision, then enveloped him in an awkward two-level hug. Harry snorted and eased up to stand to make the position a bit easier, wrapping his arms around the other boy's small waist and burying his face into his school shirt.

'I'm sorry you died,' Draco muttered in his ear.

'It wasn't that bad, considering,' Harry mumbled into his collarbone, and tried not to over think the utterly bizarre conversation they'd just had.

Draco tried not to shudder at the vibration of Harry's voice in his shoulder, and absent-mindedly rubbed a thumb in a small circle over the muscle between the other boy's spine and shoulder blade. He then trailed that thumb slowly downwards, varying the pressure.

Harry suppressed his own shudder and felt a slight physical indication that he should politely end the hug. Before it got awkward.

As they separated, Draco combed the fingers of one had through a lock of Harry's hair and rolled his eyes when they caught, making Harry hiss a little in pain. 'Perhaps you need my help like I need yours. Just in different ways,' he sniggered.

'So you're admitting you need my help,' Harry pointed out.

'You won't hear me say it again,' Draco acknowledged, leaning against the bench and sighing. Harry caught his hand and squeezed it.

'Once is enough,' he tried to sound reassuring. Draco gave him a sardonic look, and Harry bet the poke in the head he got was entirely just to ruin the drama of his statement. So he poked him back in retribution.

As it turned out, that wasn't the best idea; the war quickly escalated to the point where he needed to flee behind the bench to seek refuge and save his ribs from the fate of ugly bruises, since it turned out Draco had sharp fingers when it suited him. Draco cackled at his cowardice, the tension of their fight nearly entirely diffused.

'What's this potion?' He pointed at the pewter cauldron that contained a gently simmering purple gloop. It looked weirdly familiar.

'Hair potion,' Draco drawled, peering in himself from the other side of the bench.

'Does it really bother you that much?' Harry laughed, tugging at his offending hair.

'Yes,' Draco agreed flatly. 'It was bothering me all through Potions. I kept wondering if I saw a mouse in there.'

'There's no mice in my hair,' Harry defended, scraping his fingers through it as he re-approached the war zone.

'I don't believe you,' Draco watched him, returning to his position reclining against the support. 'I bet if I hid my wand in there for safekeeping you wouldn't even notice.'

'Challenge accepted,' Harry sniggered. 'Not sure if my head would be a safe place to keep things, though.'

'You're right,' Draco mused. 'Perhaps she-Weasley would find it when you snogged her. I would rather she didn't procure my wand,' he winced.

'Me and Ginny don't snog,' Harry twisted his face. 'Not any more, anyway.'

'It always entertains me that you admit these things when you know I'll use them to mock you,' Draco laughed. 'Come on, then, you've dangled this particular morsel in front of me enough. Why not?'

'Not now you've said you'll mock me,' Harry huffed, easing himself up to sit on the bench next to where Draco stood, who then rounded on him to brace his hands either sides of his thighs.

'And if I promise not to mock you?' The bargain seemed a bit hollow when combined with the gleeful look on Draco's face.

'I won't believe you,' Harry countered.

'Try me,' Draco crossed his arms in challenge. 'Come on, Potter. Prove you're my friend.'

'I haven't even talked to Ron about this,' Harry reasoned, scratching his stubble. 'He just knows I've not really been speaking to her. It's weird, you know, since it's his sister...'

'What's weird?' Draco dropped the mischievous look in his eyes, replaced with pure curiosity. He leaned with one elbow on the bench and looked up at Harry with the other hand nonchalantly stuffed in his pocket.

'Are you a virgin?' Harry blurted, then hid his face in his hands.

Draco sniggered at his embarrassment. 'No,' he answered honestly, removing the hand from his pocket to rub his neck and smile up at Harry. 'I did a lot of things to save face in sixth year.'

'Like stomp on my face?' Harry asked wryly.

'No, I did that for fun,' Draco cackled, and neatly dodged Harry's kick. 'So I'm guessing you are?'

'Yeah,' Harry mumbled, pressing his chin down against his chest. Draco grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into climbing down to stand, and patted him on the back.

'Never mind. Maybe one day, when the Lady Weasel is suitably excited and you have access to a lot of alcohol...'

'No, see, that's it,' Harry grumbled. 'It's not for lack of trying.'

'She's turning you away?' Draco squinted at him. 'Well, I have to say I'm surprised by that.'

'No. No, Ginny's up for it,' Harry sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets and staring at the floor. 'It's just, I'm not. Up. For it.'

'Oh.' Draco tilted his head. He then looked down at Harry's trousers. 'Ohhhhh.'

'Yeah. And she's worried that it's her and I'm not sure, and, well, have you ever had it happen?'

'Perhaps,' Draco considered it. 'Had you been drinking a lot?'

'No,' Harry sighed.

'Are you attracted to her?'

'I dunno,' Harry mumbled.

'See, that's just a polite no,' Draco observed. 'You can't expect to take part in the performance if you don't have a rapport with your co-star.'

'That's the weirdest way I've heard anything like that worded,' Harry gave him a side look, and smiled at Draco's pleased grin. 'I feel bad about it. She's all sorted that we're going to get married and everything.'

'Scary,' Draco agreed. 'What is it, then? Do you have your eye on another lady? I heard rumours about you and Chang once upon a time.'

'Godric, no,' Harry made a face. 'She'd probably call me 'Cedric' in bed.'

'Either that or ask 'what's wrong with little Harry',' Draco sniggered, but held up his hands in surrender at Harry's venomous glare. 'No mocking, yes, alright.' He still chuckled a little, trying to pretend it was a cough.

Harry sighed in defeat, and Draco gave in to the wave of sympathy.

'Well, perhaps you've not considered something,' he suggested. Harry shot him a curious look. 'What exactly do you like about her?'

'Erm, I'm not sure,' Harry admitted, rubbing at his eye. 'I always got pretty jealous when she was with someone else. I like how she likes Quidditch, and that she's pretty strong.'

'And her breasts?'

The look he got back was shocked and a bit offended. 'I'm not one of those blokes, Draco.'

'Either way, Potter. Do you think about her breasts?'

That was the top runner for the weirdest question he'd ever been asked, Harry thought. 'Um. Actually, not really,' he mumbled. 'Is that bad?'

'Not 'bad', just different,' Draco offered. 'Who's the most attractive in your dorm?'

Harry was thrown by the question, but considered it anyway. 'Probably Neville, weirdly.'

'Why?'

'He's fit, I suppose.'

Draco could have cooked a fried egg for his breakfast on the sheer heat of Harry's blush as he thought about Neville's body. Draco knew he had one more question that technically didn't really relate, if he was being genuine about helping Potter categorise his sexuality; but he wasn't going to get a better opportunity to ask it.

'Am I attractive?'

Harry's head jerked up in surprise, and his mouth hung open as he stared at Draco. Draco reached out and gently closed it for him.

Draco waited, but no response seemed to be forthcoming as Harry seemed to be having a small heart attack.

'Okay, Potty,' he drawled, closing in. If he was going to cause the other boy's death through sheer shock, he might as well do it properly.

He reached out again, and applied the smallest of pressures to take hold of Harry's jaw with his thumb and the tips of his fingers. He closed the space between them, taking slow small steps to allow Harry time to reject the idea and pull away, but he didn't. That providing him with the last burst of courage he needed, Draco tilted his head to fit his lips in between Harry's own. He then pulled back, and waited for the explosion.

One of Harry's eyes twitched.

Draco moved to step back when Harry reached out to catch his wrist, preventing his escape. Then Harry pulled him in a short jerk that was enough to make him tip forward, and then Harry was kissing him back.

Harry had no idea what he was doing. Draco felt totally, completely different from Ginny; he was taller and suddenly Harry was the smaller person and to be honest they'd touched each other so much that the kissing was a small step forward that didn't really feel out of place.

He decided somewhere in the back of his brain that it was nice, and more was better, and he increased the pressure to let Draco's bottom lip fit perfectly between his own and just move a tiny bit. He felt Draco hum, and wind an arm around his body to press a large hand against the small of his back, and that was nice too. Harry mirrored the movement, circling the other boy's body in a way he knew from hugging him and took a moment to match the soft angles he felt under the thin shirt with the milky skin he'd seen the night in the bathroom, and his hips pressed forward of their own accord.

Suddenly Draco was pushing him back, and their lips detached with a small noise and the hyper sensitive feeling of wet skin sliding across skin. Harry nearly moaned at the loss, and blinked.

'That, I think,' Draco furrowed his brows in equal parts frustration and confusion, 'is enough for today.'

Harry just stared at him, and absent-mindedly touched his own lips with his thumb. Draco followed the movement with his eyes, squeezed them shut for a second, and jerked himself back to full awareness.

Unfortunately, full awareness indicated to him that then was perhaps the best time to pick up his things and flee before Potter knew what he'd done.

Harry watched him go with bemusement. He looked down.

Well, that hadn't happened before.

* * *

Note: Luckily I've finally had the time to update this (and hopefully the length makes up for it), and also to draw up a quick cover image for this story so the poor thing doesn't look so out of place next to everyone else's stories :)

A larger copy of it can be found on the tumblr blog for this fanfic – theclayrsawme dot tumblr dot com – as well as a few sketches of particular moments I've done. Please have patience with my drawing skill, I'm more than a bit rusty :) I'm also finishing this at 4:00am uk time so my apologies for any mistakes, I just couldn't stop writing the stupid thing.

Thanks for reading so far!


	8. Chapter 8

**Under the Influence**

**Summary: Harry is out of sorts, and it provides an opportunity Draco didn't even know he needed. HPDM, Post War/'Eighth' Year.**

_Author: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters therein._

* * *

_Chapter Eight – Worry_

Harry's return to his house was a slow one, as he stumbled along in his cloak – last thing he wanted was Filch happening upon him anywhere near after hours – mind whirring along as he desperately tried not to over-think what had happened and failing miserably.

The first person to greet him at the painting was, of course, the last person he wanted to see.

'Harry, are you alright?' Ginny glided over from setting textbooks down on a table to see him, and tried to help him with his bag, almost snatching it from him when he resisted. 'You look a bit pale.'

'Erm, 'm fine, Ginny,' he tried to smile nonchalantly and grasped for his bag. 'I'm just going to go to bed.'

Ginny kept the bag out of reach, slinging it over her own shoulder with an assurance for him not to worry about it. 'Want any company?' She purred, reaching over to take his arm with a coquettish smile.

Oh Merlin, no, Harry thought. Why me? 'Erm, I'm pretty tired, Gin,' he tried to surreptitiously snatch his bag back again but her body was in the way. She misinterpreted the gesture and caught his outreaching hand to loop it around her waist, guiding them both towards the boy's dormitory stairs.

'Don't worry, I'll be quiet,' she giggled in his ear, and he shuddered. 'Hey, Harry, I was talking to Lavender about a couple of things...'

Oh, great, and now the entire castle was going to think he couldn't get it up, Harry thought, biting the bullet and forcing them to stop still by digging in his heels.

'Look, Ginny,' Harry pulled a sharp turn to block her path and gently unhooked his bag from her shoulder. 'I really need to get to sleep. I'm sorry,' he added, stomach churning at how her face fell.

'It's okay, Harry,' she smiled sadly. 'I'll wait for however long you need.' She reached out to stroke him lightly on the jaw, and pecked him gently on the lips, before flitting away with a disappointed look back to her table. Harry almost felt like he might throw up, and stumbled heavily up the stairs.

* * *

What the fuck did you just do, Draco, he chastised himself as he sat on a ledge of one of the classrooms in the cold and eerily empty astronomy tower.

The weather must have deterred other more adventurous students tonight, as the loud, tempestuous wind rattled against the eaves and released haunting wails as it sneaked into the tower through the gaps in the ageing wooden window frames that Draco now peered out of. The wind had leached a bitter cold into the room, and Draco sat with his long legs tucked up to his chest and his chin buried in the neck of his jumper.

He had absolutely no business kissing Potter. No matter which angle he looked at it, there was no justification. It was all bad.

He had a duty to his family, as the Malfoy heir. He couldn't get involved with a man, especially one that stood against everything his father and grandfather and even his great grandfather had ever believed in.

His father would be furious. It was the worst betrayal he could think to commit, besides burning the entire Malfoy estate down, or donating all of the family fortune to Granger's bizarre organisation for house elves, the ridiculous bint.

Maybe if he'd decided to kiss Granger his father would have been more disgusted. At least Potter was a half-blood.

Who had killed the Dark Lord his family idolised, and aided in the ruin of his parents.

Maybe not, then.

Fuck, he had no idea how to fix this. Potter as a friend had been a good ally – his father would have forgiven him that easily, would have seen it as a good tactical move on Draco's part – but to fall in love with the git?

Draco might as well throw himself off the tower and save himself the trouble of being permanently banished, penniless and in eternal disgrace.

Wait, did he just think about 'loving' Potter?

Fuck.

* * *

Harry couldn't get any sleep. At all.

In a way it was slightly silly that one kiss could blow his entire world apart. It changed everything, and Harry struggled to even get his head around why.

On one hand, there was no reason to take it seriously; if Harry was honest with himself he still had no idea how Malfoy worked – the bloke had mood swings worse than he'd ever seen, and would be deadly serious one second and ridiculous the next whenever it suited him. More than once Harry had proverbially been tripped to fall on his face because of it.

Maybe that kind of thing wasn't that serious to Malfoy. Any Gryffindor had at one point or another heard the rumour that Slytherins were a bit more morally lax than most people, and not just with the things you'd normally think of. Blaise Zabini was the proud owner of a reputation of notoriety because of just that – if you can imagine it, some student somewhere was telling another one that he got up to it.

Maybe to Malfoy, kissing another bloke wasn't a bit deal at all. Maybe he really was just trying to help Harry out.

Help him out with what, anyway? Was he really gay?

Well, yes, Harry had kissed him back, and that second kiss when he smoothed his hands across his hips had made Harry damn near want to dry hump Draco into the nearest flat surface – shit, that definitely meant something.

He'd never felt that way about Ginny. Kissing her was about as erotic as kissing Crookshanks, except moderately less dangerous. He didn't feel any particular urge to kiss anyone else he knew that way either, male or female. Like he'd suggested, Harry did know Neville was attractive – not that Neville was trying to hide it – but he didn't feel any urge to press him into the bed and have his way with him, but if he replaced Neville with Draco in that situation then suddenly it seemed like a very nice idea indeed.

Maybe Harry was Draco-sexual.

He didn't see how that made it any better.

* * *

Harry was relieved to see Draco at breakfast, sauntering in late with his white blond head held proudly high as usual. His stomach dropped a little when the other boy steadfastly – obviously – avoided his eye, seating himself elegantly among the younger Slytherins and staring at some toast. His eyesight wasn't great, but he could see dark circles under grey eyes. Harry could sympathise.

'Harry, did something happen between you two?' Hermione's perceptions were needle sharp as always, and Harry winced at the sting, bustling to collect himself some eggs before Ron got to them and trying to look as nonchalant as possible. 'Only, Ginny said you were a bit preoccupied last night.'

To lie or not to lie? Harry weighted up his options. 'Um, yeah. I can't talk about it now, though.'

Hermione's eyebrows pulled together in concern, and she patted his hand even as she squinted curiously across the hall, past Ron's drooping head. 'Of course,' she soothed, and proceeded to mother him by buttering his toast. Harry gave her a grateful smile and rested his heavy head on her shoulder. Ron lifted his own head to give him a jealous glare, but probably more for the headrest than suspicion of Harry and his potentially ulterior motives.

'We're NEWT students,' he moaned, stabbing a fork into a sausage with a resonating clink. 'We should only have afternoon lessons.'

'Honestly, Ron,' Hermione scolded him lightly, resting her cheek on Harry's hair. 'If you didn't stay up so late gossiping with Seamus, you'd be just fine.'

'We weren't gossiping,' Ron replied hotly, rubbing at his eye. 'We were having a very manly conversation.'

'That involved a lot of giggling, as far as I could see,' Hermione countered, giving him a wicked smile. Harry sniggered at Ron's offended expression, but it cut off prematurely when he caught his eyes on a venomous glare from the other side of the great hall. He lifted his head slowly, and his face creased in worry.

'Uh oh. I'm not sure, but I'm probably in trouble.'

'Um, Harry,' Hermione muttered. 'He's not looking at you.'

Hermione was right. Draco was staring at her with such a ferocity it seemed he was silently willing her hair to catch fire.

Harry had no idea what that meant.

* * *

Whatever it was, Harry was happy to use it as his excuse to seek Draco out post lessons. He only had two classes, but both were scheduled with Hufflepuff, and when Harry couldn't see him at lunch despite his increasingly frantic searching, he was starting to get worried.

He couldn't find him. What was worse, he couldn't find his map either, which was the only thing that gave him a fighting chance in seeking out one person who might not want to be found in the expansive interior of castle, much like finding a needle in a haystack. A search for Draco dissolved into a search for the map, and Harry nearly went mad after two hours looking with there still being no sign.

Think back to when you last had it, Hermione lectured him, but Harry's mind was unfocussed and the advice was less than useless; he couldn't remember at all.

Hopefully Draco had it, and not Filch.

* * *

Draco managed to avoid Potter with the use of his still astoundingly interesting map for the grand total of four days, skipping lessons and pilfering meals from the kitchens, until the Saturday morning an owl landed on his shoulder while he was wandering around the grounds.

The letter the it bore had the boxed writing and green seal of the Ministry, and that letter brought Draco's world crashing down around his ears.

* * *

'How are you feeling, Harry?' Ginny's upbeat lilt sounding close behind him shocked him out of a stupor, having spent an unhealthy amount of time sat staring at the common room fireplace. She slid around from the back of his chair to seat herself delicately on one of the armrests, strategically exposing the expanse of one milky thigh below a short denim skirt.

Harry steadfastly didn't look at it, absent-mindedly noting that the skirt wasn't particularly seasonal attire now the real Scottish winter was setting in, and continued to try and out-stare the fire. 'I'm fine.'

Ginny frowned, and reached out to brush his fringe out of his eyes, ignoring it when he gave the slightest of flinches at her hand suddenly appearing in his field of vision. 'You don't look fine,' she challenged, grasping him on the shoulder. 'And you keep avoiding me.'

'I'm not avoiding you, Gin,' Harry lied, and stared harder at the flames until his eyes stung. 'Hermione's got me doing a lot of work, since she's worried about us forgetting Sixth year stuff.'

'I'm not stupid, Harry,' Ginny scolded, giving up on his arm rest to migrate to the stool in front of him, forcing him to break his stare and finally look at her instead. 'Hermione's being strange around me too – she says I should give you some space. Why should I be giving you space, Harry? Have I done something wrong?'

'No,' Harry tried to inflect a soothing tone, sighing. 'Really, I'm just a bit worried about something.'

'What?' Ginny gave him a suspicious look.

Harry rubbed his hand over his face. 'I haven't seen Dra – Malfoy for a while.'

Ginny looked at him like he'd done a Nearly Headless Nick and flopped his head off into her dinner plate. 'So?' Her tone was incredulous.

'So, I'm worried if he's okay,' Harry tried not to snap at her, but he had his mind on other things, and he felt like he didn't need to tell her every time his life changed even the tiniest bit. Her 'how are you feeling, Harry' line had been used innumerably after the aftermath of the battle, and he was getting tired of it, even though he didn't have anything against her. He loved Ginny. He just wasn't sure how much.

'Wait,' she drew out, eyeing him with her eyebrows furrowed. 'You actually care?'

'Yes, I 'actually care',' Harry bit at her, and only felt slightly guilty when she looked stung at his tone of voice.

'You mean those rumours are true?' She hissed, jerking to stand over him with her hands placed imperially on her hips.

'What rumours?' Harry whined, looking around common room for help, if not through intervention from Hermione then at least a third party to calmly explain to him what she was talking about.

Godric, he thought, please let that tie gossip have died like he thought it had.

'You've been cheating on me,' Ginny howled, and Harry's worst fears were confirmed. 'With Malfoy!' Harry winced as if he'd been hit. 'A Death Eater!'

Ginny cried out wordlessly in anguish, and Harry felt it like a punch to the gut as she deflected his outreached hand, grabbing her wand as if she was going to hex him before re-thinking it and running off up the girl's dormitory stairs, streaming tears.

Harry was left standing dumbstruck next to his chair, stared at by the other occupants of the room.

He thought about running to shout up the stairwell at Ginny, to tell her how mad that was and to ask her to talk to him, but he stopped amid his first step forward, one foot hanging in the air.

Was she that wrong?

Harry let his foot land, and walked out through the portrait hole instead.

* * *

He was stomping as loudly as he could, down the narrow rubble pathway that lead down the bank towards Hagrid's hut and the edge of the forest, when he caught the brilliant white gold colour of Draco's hair glinting in the corner of his eye. The surprise caused him to trip, and he landed heavily on one knee, scraping the palms of his hands on the gravel as he caught himself.

He sat slowly back on his haunches in the middle of the path. He could see Draco from the back, stood eerily still by the lake's edge, unmistakeably him and wrapped up in a long, dark cloak against the bitter cold of the early December frost. Harry eased himself to his feet and watched him for a moment, stuffing his stinging hands into his jeans pockets. Draco didn't move.

Harry tried to sneak up on him, crossing over onto the grass and slowly loping the long, gentle decline to the water, stepping gingerly on the shingled bank when he reached it and hoping that the lapping water and whisperings of rustling leaves would hide the sound. He was illogically terrified Draco would take off and he'd never see him again.

It didn't work.

'Potter,' Draco sighed, turning to gaze at him when he'd reached nearly ten metres away. Harry could only just hear his voice over the sounds of the forest, but he knew he could hear the weary tone that underlay it.

Harry awkwardly worked his way over to stand beside him. He took in a breath, but didn't know what to say.

Draco got there first.

'My father is dead.'

Harry could write an essay on the reasons why he had nothing to say to that.

Draco retrieved the letter from his pocket, silently passing it over. Harry didn't read it, but instead inspected the pin sharp capitals in which it was addressed. 'MASTER DRACO L. MALFOY'. Harry hated the look of those letters ever since his first one at age twelve, because they'd never once born good news.

'How?'

'Another prisoner.' Draco's face remained stoic, but he choked out the words. Harry reached over to replace the letter gently in his pocket, and edged closer to press his side against the other boy's for support and warmth.

Draco's face fell a little then, and his pointed chin jutted downward as his brows knitted together. Harry's stomach twisted in sympathy. In any other condition, he'd have been glad to hear of Lucius's death. Now, with Draco's friendship, everything didn't seem so black and white.

'I'm sorry.'

'No, you're not,' Draco swung to face him, teeth bared and snarling. Harry faced him head on, refusing to baulk.

'I'm not sorry that he's dead,' Harry admitted. 'I am sorry that it hurts you.'

Draco closed his eyes, and his face was pinched in pain. Harry breathed in and out slowly, and shuffled forward on the shingle to gently touch his forehead to Draco's, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder.

The touch, light as it was, caused a dam to break, and Draco's body began to shudder with silent sobs as tears glittered down his cheeks. Harry brought both hands up, wiping them away gently with the pads of his thumbs, but the flow was unrelenting.

Harry drew him into a hug, the embrace now calmingly familiar despite the original awkwardness of their height difference. He buried his nose into Draco's shoulder and felt the blond's damp cheek press against his cold ear, and rubbed his back in slow circles as they rode out the sobbing.

He started to become used to the sound of slow breaths in his ear as they stood wrapped together, and he jerked a little in surprise at feeling Draco suddenly go stiff after a few minutes, jerking away to put empty space between them and making Harry uncomfortable at the sudden loss of warmth.

When he tried to meet Draco's eye in confusion he saw him staring off up the hill towards the castle, and when he followed the gaze he understood why.

At the very top of the bank he saw two figures, which he could make out with a heavy heart as being Lavender and Parvati. They were leaning together in a posture entirely different from the one they'd just occupied, and the meaning was clear enough that although Harry couldn't hear their voices in the buffeting wind he hardly needed to.

'Shit,' he whispered, and Draco jerked to look at him. His cheeks were pink from the cold and his face still sparkled with the dampness of tears, and for a moment Harry entirely forgot the girls on the hill, reaching out to him and only coming back to earth when his hand was knocked away.

'You should leave, Potter.' Draco's voice was rough and quiet and Harry knew he couldn't.

'It doesn't really matter to me,' he offered quietly, shifting around so Draco was facing out towards the water again and their sight of Harry was blocked by the taller boy's frame. 'I've already been outed to whoever matters now anyway, if that's what you could call it.'

Draco's head tilted in confusion, and made to turn and look at the girls again before Harry caught him on the arm.

'Do you want me to go?'

'I've been avoiding you all week.'

Harry nodded, and sighed a little in disappointment. He made to leave but Draco took his turn to catch him by the arm. 'I have your map.'

'I hoped you did,' Harry admitted. 'Although I did think maybe you were just really good at hiding.'

'I am that too,' Draco gave him a sad smile, but it went as quickly as it came. He rooted around in his trouser pockets, before giving up and wiping at his face with the hem of his cloak.

'Why are you out here?' Harry shuffled a little closer.

'I like the weather,' Draco gave him a look but accepted the invasion of his space anyway. Harry sneaked a quick look over his shoulder, but luckily as far as he could see the girls had gone. He moved closer still and returned to stealing some of Draco's body heat, dipping his head down against the wind. 'I did not think you'd want to see me.'

'Liar. You'll have seen me on the map, searching all over the castle,' Harry accused, resting his forehead against the curve of Draco's neck.

'Why?' Harry felt him ask, the rumble of his voice vibrating through him.

'I wanted to talk to you.' Harry took a deep breath. 'Not right now, though.'

'Not right now,' Draco agreed, and wrapped his arms around his back.

* * *

It took twenty bitterly cold minutes out on the water's edge before Harry successfully convinced Draco that a retreat to the castle was imperative if they were to keep all of their fingers, and he sighed audibly in relief as they entered the fire lit warmth of the Room.

He then started in surprise, in the process of removing his thick jumper, when he realised it was an entirely different Room than he'd been used to frequenting.

He peered in casual interest at the large quilt covered bed that took residence in the corner, mainly because it was a mile apart from the elegant understatement he would have expected from Draco's chosen secret abode. The throws that were instead situated upon the bed would not have looked out of place on Harry's favourite armchair next to Mrs Weasley's constant fire, although there were tell-tale hints in the flashes of green and silver thread.

'Go on,' Draco said from his seat by the fire.

''Go on', what?' Harry queried, retrieving one such quilt to drape about himself like an oversized cape. He caught sight of his map on the bedside table and snatched it up in relief.

'Go on and take the piss,' Draco drawled, a more subdued tone than Harry was usually treated to, as he splayed out in his chair in a posture that was also just as uncharacteristic.

'I'm not going to take the piss,' Harry defended, occupying his own chair. 'I might steal one.'

Draco hummed at the sight of him, swamped by the folds, making him appear smaller and more childlike. 'I'm glad you approve.'

'I could trade you a pair of my specs for one of the cushions,' Harry added, and was proud that he'd solicited a small smile to appear on Draco's face.

'You have a deal,' Draco sighed, stretching out his legs and closing his eyes. 'So long as you sign them.'

''To Draco, hope you like them, from Harry Potter',' Harry smiled.

'Perfect,' Draco said quietly, smoothing down his hair.

Harry's smile slid away as he looked at Draco. His head was resting against the high back of his armchair, his back inelegantly arched in an awkward curve and his eyes held tightly shut. Harry's face twisted a little in sadness. 'Do you want me to go?' Harry wasn't sure, but he assumed this kind of mourning probably didn't require company, especially not company of his sort.

Draco's eyes cracked open, exposing the slightest sliver of storm-grey iris. 'No,' he whispered, sliding his head over to open his eyes wider and give Harry a lost look. 'Being alone won't stop him being gone.'

Harry's chest squeezed, and he abandoned his quilt to sit at Draco's feet, resting his cheek against the blond's knee. He sighed quietly as he felt Draco's palm rest lightly against the top of his head. 'I'll stay as long as you want.'

Draco's hand jerked a little, clasping and opening to card his fingers through Harry's hair. 'Won't you be missed?'

'I don't care,' Harry announced to the fireplace, his eyelids fluttering closed for a moment as he felt fingernails scrape gently across his scalp.

They sat in silence for a short while, Draco smoothing his hand across Harry's head as he sat patiently on the floor beside him, like an obedient dog. Harry realised how undignified it was for him and he didn't care at all.

'Thank you,' Draco whispered, tracing a fingertip across the top of Harry's ear, causing his need to suppress a shudder.

'I'm your friend,' Harry murmured. He left his thoughts unspoken – maybe it's more than that – but his unsure tone echoed throughout the room.

Draco paid no mind to the awkwardness of it. 'Why did you say you'd been 'outed'?'

Harry winced, pressing his face into Draco's calf. 'Ginny accused me of cheating.'

'My apologies,' Draco muttered, withdrawing his hand from Harry's hair. Harry almost keened at the loss, but instead gave up his position on the floor to seat himself on a footstool, so their conversation could flow more naturally. He guessed Draco wanted to distract himself. Harry resolved to help.

'It's not your fault,' Harry crossed his legs up on the stool, resting his chin on one hand. 'I'd just been avoiding her and she got upset.'

'Perhaps you should be with her, rather than me.'

'I'm not going if you don't want me to go,' Harry countered, removing his glasses to clean them on his t-shirt.

Draco considered him through hooded eyes, his head titled back against the chair. 'Why do you wear them?'

Harry squinted at the round frames in his hand. 'They make me feel like me. I dunno, maybe when I get older they'll get in the way,' he fidgeted with them, folding the arms in and out before replacing them on his face. 'You look tired.'

'I am tired,' Draco agreed. 'And many other things too. What time is it?'

Harry cast a tempus charm. 'Nearly nine. Do you want to sleep?'

Draco considered the question for a long moment, twirling a long of hair in his long fingers as Harry watched. 'I may have to take Dreamless Sleep. But I've already taken it too often recently. Of course, my father would choose to die at such an awkward time,' he smirked, pressing his fingers into his temples.

'I can't take Dreamless, since I got addicted to it over the summer,' Harry confided.

'You didn't have any nightmares with me in the dorms,' Draco observed. He remembered Harry's sleepy face as he admitted as much, pressed up against him in his bed, and smiled despite himself.

'No,' Harry smiled too. 'Which was weird. But nice.'

'Neither did I. Potter,' Draco began, but paused as he second-guessed himself.

'Yup?' Harry reached out to smooth down Draco's hair, mussed by the back of his armchair, and gave Draco the small burst of bravery he needed.

'Will you stay?'

'Yeah,' Harry replied so fast he surprised himself. 'Do you want anything to eat first?'

Draco considered it, and pulled a comically disgusted face that made Harry chuckle.

'Okay, you go get ready. I'm just going to check the map to make sure nobody's looking for me,' Harry shuffled back to the chair with his beautiful quilt, muttering to the map and huffing in relief and a little bit of uncomfortable surprise to see not only Ginny happily situated in her dormitory, but Ron and Hermione very close to each other in his. He abandoned the parchment to retrieve his quilt, and turned towards the bed in time to see Draco perch on its edge, dressed only in black boxers. He moved over to wrap the cover around Draco's shoulders, beginning to pull off his own t-shirt.

He stopped when he heard Draco let out a soft sound, almost like a mewl of pain, and watched his face twist as he heaved deep breaths.

'I won't judge you,' Harry offered as he tossed away his top across the room, toeing off his trainers and unbuttoning his jeans.

'Strangely, I know that,' Draco sighed, scraping his nails through his hair. 'I just know it won't help.'

'You're allowed to do it anyway,' Harry wormed his way under the quilt to press his upper arm to Draco's own. 'I did when I was a kid, when I thought my parents had died in a car crash.'

'You thought...?' Draco looked up sharply, confused. 'Merlin, Potter. You're just full of surprises.'

'Yay,' Harry drawled, and Draco let out a quiet laugh. 'Sleep?'

'Sleep,' Draco agreed, and nudged him off the bed to pull down the sheets, sliding in. Harry awkwardly joined him, his attempt to maintain a respectful distance ruined when Draco drew him into a close hug.

'Now you can never leave,' Draco rumbled in his ear, and Harry laughed.

* * *

I feel a bit like this chapter needs an explanation, since it evolved into waaay more angst than I was expecting -

The main influence was that it's a given that Draco's parents are a massive obstacle when it comes to this relationship. With Lucius I either had the option of painstakingly working my way in around his canon character for an entire millennia, or I could bump him off. Sooo. :)

The other thing is that I personally am having to deal with things in a slightly similar sense, with there being a serious illness in my family. I felt it was easy to think 'hey, Mr Malfoy is a dick, the end', but he's Draco's dad and it'll have affected him deeply, and I probably projected a bit in that.

This will be the only angst, I swear. Please keep your faith in the boylove. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Under the Influence**

**Summary: Harry is out of sorts, and it provides an opportunity Draco didn't even know he needed. HPDM, Post War/'Eighth' Year.**

_Author: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters therein._

* * *

_Chapter Nine - Integrity_

Harry woke to dark surroundings, the room only slightly illuminated with a soft blue light, accompanied by a crisp cold akin to the sensation of an open window on a spring night. He burrowed deeper under the covers to protect the exposed skin of his shoulder, and settled to return to sleep again, until he realised what had roused him.

The mattress of the bed was very slightly quaking, in a gentle, steady rhythm. Harry lay still, and his straining ears caught the slightest hitches of Draco's sobs.

The other boy had isolated himself far away from Harry, pushed right up against the edge of the bed, and Harry watched as the expanse of his uncovered back, almost luminescent, shuddered with the gasps. He reached over, intentionally announcing his movement with the tell-tale rasp of fabric, and lay one warm palm against the gleam of Draco's skin.

Draco went still, frozen stiff like a marble statue in moonlight, and Harry tried not to panic – maybe he forgot he was there, maybe he'd jump up and run or attack him – and let out a huff of relief when the other boy took a deep, slow breath and moved to turn over and face him.

'I tried...' His words were punctuated by a soft hiccup. 'I tried not to wake you.'

'I don't mind,' Harry assured, gently pulling him to lie more surely on the mattress, closer to himself, and noticing the sharp contrast of the blond's low temperature to his own.

'Regardless, I do.' Draco whispered, smoothing over his face with the back of his hand.

'I want to help,' Harry reasoned, reaching over to toss bedding over Draco's body and protect him from the cold. 'You should let me.'

'I'm still at odds as to why you do,' Draco sighed, twisting his upper body to lay on his back, throwing one arm haphazardly across his chest and disrupting Harry's careful work by moving the covers away.

'Um,' Harry rubbed his eyes, and ignored his itching need to cover Draco over again like a mother hen. 'Because I do? I guess nobody helped me when my parents died. I don't want that for you.'

'Ah.' Draco brought up the arm to cover his face. 'It's either too late at night or too early in the morning for things to get philosophical.'

Harry nodded in agreement. 'Could you, maybe, cover up? You're cold and it's making me nervous.'

Draco snorted. 'Like this?' He grabbed a handful of bedclothes and threw them over his head, disappearing under folds of white fabric.

'Close enough,' Harry agreed, laughing at the muffled chuckles. 'Try not to suffocate, though.'

Draco threw back the sheets again, feigning a dramatic gasp for air. 'Oh, Potty, don't worry. If I die, I'll just haunt you.'

'I would consider it an honour,' Harry smiled sleepily. 'For, perhaps, the first week.'

'Try the first day,' Draco shuffled closer, and hissed in his ear. ''Hey, Potter, was that a nice shower? Hey, Potter, two sugars in tea is just heretical. Hey, Potter, does this ectoplasm feel sticky to you? Hey, Potter, what fetching underwear you have there'.'

'You'd get bored of that too quickly,' Harry countered, but Draco laughed quietly at the lack of conviction in his voice, and Harry smiled. 'I guess there are worse ghosts.'

'Don't be too sure,' Draco drawled in his ear, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. 'The Baron taught us special Slytherins some lessons.'

'I really, really don't want to know,' Harry whispered in horror, and Draco sniggered into his shoulder, the hot waves of breath sending sparks across his skin.

As if in recognition to their close quarters, Draco reached out and looped a light grip around Harry's hip as they faced each other on the bed. The weight of his arm was slight as he held it just above Harry's body, ready to be pulled quickly away and the movement in itself an unspoken question. Harry decided to answer it, and lay his own hand boldly across Draco's forearm. The forearm with the Dark Mark, although Harry couldn't see it in the low light.

His positive reception gained him the response of an almost inaudible sigh of relief in his ear, and they both lay together in silence for a few moments.

'Potter.'

'Harry.'

'Scarhead?'

'_Harry.'_

Draco snorted. 'Alright, Harry.'

'Yes, Draco?'

'You're probably in trouble.' Draco's hand twitched against Harry's side, his finger tips brushing over the bare skin of his lower back and making Harry's skin tingle.

Harry's mind flicked to the sight of his two house-mates, gleefully bent together on the hill, and the stream of Ginny's tears as she fled. 'Yeah, probably.'

'I offer my help, for the little use it will be.' Draco placed his hand more surely now, the palm cupping Harry's flank and the thumb gently pressed against the apex of one hip bone.

'Isn't this going to cause you problems, too?'

Draco hummed quietly, moving the pad of his thumb in circles over Harry's side. Harry's own hand, having migrated to rest comfortably at Draco's elbow, smoothed his palm over a firm bicep seemingly of its own accord, and Harry blushed in the darkness. 'I think you mean, 'more problems'.'

'Oh. Yeah.'

'In which case, I've already considered it.'

'And?' Harry squinted to search his expression, but could barely see it.

'I've decided it's worth it.'

Harry then found himself of the receiving end of a gentle kiss; more of a peck than anything else, he barely had time to register the soft brush of pressure on his lips before it was gone, and Draco's face was still unreadable in the darkness of the room.

They both lay in silence for a minute, and Draco's arm was stiff under Harry's hand.

'Did I completely misread that?'

Harry grinned, amused by the very rare lilt of nervousness in Draco's voice. 'Um, no, I suppose not.'

'Ah. Good.'

Harry felt himself being drawn in, and succumbed into the embrace, tucking his head under Draco's chin and closing his eyes. He took the opportunity to draw the sheets up again and cover the other boy's back, since his skin was still a noticeable few degrees colder than Harry's own. Once they were safely cocooned he felt himself relax.

Draco looped his arms around his shoulders, splaying both palms across the top of Harry's back, while Harry left one arm trapped between their stomachs and one cast gently over Draco's side, the fingertips lightly contacting the ridge of the blond's spine. He sleepily ran one finger upwards along the line, and received a tiny sigh in response.

'We should go back to sleep,' Draco announced to the messy crown of Harry's hair. Harry let out a low murmur in response. 'Merlin, Potter. Must you beat me in everything?'

There was no reply except quiet breathing, as Harry returned to a deep sleep.

* * *

A few hours later, Draco was roused to the sound of shuffling echoing through the room. He languidly stretched his limbs out, across the bed and the still-warm recently vacated patch next to him Harry had previously resided, taking a moment to bury his face into the soft pillows and heave a long sigh before sitting up.

Harry himself was sat in an armchair, dragged over to sit next to the enchanted window that indicated it was a dull grey winter morning outside. He was poring over his map again, head propped up with one hand and his eyebrows drawn together.

'Bad news?' Draco muttered, rubbing his eyes.

'Maybe. Ron and Hermione are in the common room, so that's okay.' Harry sighed, aggressively rubbing his cheek with his palm. 'Problem is, everyone else is too.'

'And that is a problem because?' Draco eased slowly up from the bed, and stretched again, scratching at the raised scars on his bare chest.

'Lavender and Parvati are right in the middle of it. And Ginny's there too.' Harry sighed, throwing himself back in his chair with a thud. 'Do you think maybe I'd get away with never going back there?'

Draco huffed a quiet laugh, sauntering over to procure his own chair and throwing himself down. 'The possibility is slim,' he gave Harry a pitying look, and received a sad smile in return.

'No, really. I could wear my cloak to lessons, and eat dinner in the kitchens,' Harry huffed in resignation, glancing once more at the parchment. 'It could end up easier than going back to that.'

'You can't say I didn't warn you,' Draco drawled. 'Or, at least, I believe I did. Or meant to, at least.'

'No, you did. I don't have a great habit of listening to warnings,' Harry smiled at him. 'I've had worse, I guess. Like when you set Skeeter on me.'

Draco grimaced. 'Breakfast?'

'You're lucky I'm easily distracted.' Harry laughed. 'The room turned up that cabinet when I got up,' he gestured to the new large piece of wooden furniture next to the door, glass fronted and groaning with pitchers of juice and plates of food.

'I love this room,' Draco moaned, shuffling over to serve himself a glass. 'Some day I'll decide to never leave.'

'I definitely wouldn't get away with that,' Harry muttered, returning to his map.

'Really, now? Food, bed, me for company – what more could you need?' Draco clinked the cup against his teeth as he peered over from behind Harry's chair. 'Certainly not a gaggle of Gryffindors. They're strictly superfluous.'

'I definitely need Hermione, or I won't pass my NEWTs,' Harry smiled.

'It certainly looks like she's involving herself with controlling the damage,' Draco commented, leaning over the chair to tap a finger on the parchment, chin hovering above Harry's shoulder. Hermione's little footprints were indeed right in the thick of it; pacing back and forth in front of a static crowd of house-mates and the fidgety, ever moving pair of Ginny's footprints.

'Hey, you're dripping pumpkin juice on me,' Harry protested, smearing at the fat droplets of juice as they ran down his torso, shuddering at the cold. Draco chuckled, carefully righting his glass again and collecting one bead with his thumb, licking it away. Harry watched the movement from the corner of his eye, holding his breath for a second.

'I hate to say it,' Draco began as he deposited his juice on the fireplace. 'But I think you're going to have to go back. Soon, too.'

'Yeah,' Harry muttered, shaking the map free of moisture and re-folding it. 'I'm not exactly looking forward to hearing what they're talking about.'

'From someone who has heard it all before – it won't be nearly as inventive as you'd expect. Or interesting.' Draco wandered around the small room, bare feet padding softly on the stone tiles. 'Weasley could probably come up with better with ten minutes and a dirty novel.'

Harry stood up too, re-adjusting his rather sad boxers and stretching his back. 'Um, yeah. To be honest, I wouldn't know,' he mumbled, looking around for his wand.

Draco looked up, confused. 'Meaning?'

'I, er, don't think I'd know the difference. You know, between inventive and not.' Draco just looked at him, and Harry began to feel uncomfortable. 'Um, is there a bathroom in here?'

Draco appeared to be roused from a deep thought by the question, and nodded. 'I'll show you,' he offered, striding across the room. Harry tried not to think about how the soft light from the window glinted across the blond's bare skin as he watched him tap on the rough surface of the wall beside him. Much like the entrance to the Slytherin house, the wall melted away to reveal a hidden room; in this case, tiled elegantly in white and silver.

Harry gingerly stepped in, and jumped a little when a powerful shower jet was conjured in the small cubicle in the far corner, sectioned off from the towels and sink by a small wall. He turned to look sheepishly at Draco, who winked and disappeared, returning to the main room.

Harry fumbled with a towel, glancing at the spray and back at the arch that separated the rooms. He stared at his hands, gripping tightly at the bundle. Show some Gryffindor bravery, he thought to himself.

Draco was surprised to see his dark hair appear around the doorway. 'Problem?' He asked, swirling the drink in his goblet.

Harry flushed. 'Um.'

'Um?' Draco smirked, tilting his head.

'Well, I thought...' Harry stepped out fully, wringing the towel in his hands.

'A good start, if unusual for you.' Draco grinned at him.

Harry glared. 'Never mind, then.'

Draco stood, gliding over to grab him by the arm as he started to disappear back into the bathroom. 'No, okay. I take it back,' he soothed, massaging Harry's arm gently with both hands. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing's wrong,' Harry rushed out, flustered. Come on, Potter. 'Maybe you could teach me.'

'I could teach you many things, Harry,' Draco smiled. 'How to dress, tame your hair, catch a snitch...'

'Beating me one time doesn't really count,' Harry grinned. 'I meant, maybe you could teach me the difference. Between inventive and not inventive.'

Draco stopped still for a moment, mouth hanging open slightly. Harry flushed a dark red and began a hasty retreat into the safety of the bathroom, but was hindered by the grip on his arm. He watched as Draco mouthed words soundlessly, staring at him.

'Right now?'

'Um, never mind, don't worry about it,' Harry garbled, trying to pull free.

'No, no no no,' Draco stuttered, before flashing him a grin with more than slightly feral overtones. 'And here I was, still concerned I'd get punched for kissing you.'

'Right, yes. That's a bit scary,' Harry observed, relaxing a little at the positive response. 'I wouldn't punch you. Ginny might.'

Ah. Ginny. Actually, when he thought about it, maybe this suggestion hadn't been the most sensible he'd ever made. Ginny had completely slipped his mind; when she'd barked out about Draco being a Death Eater somehow she'd been more than a little demoted in terms of importance in his head. But being with someone else when your best friend's sister might still expect to marry you? Seemed more than a bit wrong.

Draco watched is face fall, and his stomach plummeted. 'I assure you I could beat the she-Weasel with my eyes closed,' he replied, but he looked concerned. 'Do you still feel yourself to be in a relationship with her?'

'Not really, no,' Harry confessed. 'But she probably still thinks we are. Even though she said I cheated. Which I kind of did, since I kissed you,' he mused, catching Draco's eye and looking forlorn.

'In for a Knut, in for a Sickle?' Draco asked hopefully.

Harry just looked sad, and returned to fidgeting with his towel. Draco sighed, moving to grip the other boy gently by his shoulders.

'You're too much of a Gryffindor for your own good,' he mused, brushing Harry's hair out of his eyes.

'Maybe you could be very Slytherin and trick me into forgetting about her?' Harry smiled up at him.

'In this case, your integrity makes me want to be a better person. Which is damned inconvenient,' Draco sighed, biting his bottom lip. 'Well, you know what you should do.'

'Have a shower?'

'Well, yes, that,' Draco laughed, snatching the towel from its continuous torture and dropping it on the other boy's head. 'And remember to use the potions in there. But, in this case, I meant you should end it with her.'

Harry let out a high pitched keening noise from under his towel, reminding Draco of an injured dog. 'I'm going to get hexed so badly.'

'Most likely,' Draco conceded, retrieving the towel, and grabbing Harry by the arm, who found himself being drawn close. 'But I'll make it worth it. You have my word.' He blew gently on Harry's brow, exposing the scar and making him shudder in response. Smirking, he pressed his lips to the line.

'Promise?' Harry murmured at his throat, and Draco hummed in agreement.

'Now go and shower,' he ordered, pushing him away.

Harry shuffled off, and blushed crimson when he was swatted sharply on the arse.

* * *

Harry ignored the Fat Lady's inane ramblings, took a deep breath, and stepped inside his common room.

He was, as Draco had confidently predicted just half an hour previous, met with a numb, awful silence, and the judging stares of twenty pairs of eyes.

It's happened before, he assured himself in a silent mantra, moving over to where Hermione and Ron were separated off to one side with a stroll he hoped was as quietly confident as he intended it to be. 'How bad is it?' He muttered from the corner of his mouth to Hermione, who appeared to be genuinely distracted by her book, until Harry noticed the pages were obscured with roll of messy notes on parchment.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Ron's piercing hiss. 'Ginny's going to have your head, mate.'

Harry winced, slumping down in a chair and trying desperately to avoid meeting the gaze of any of the powerful glares itching at his skin.

'Ginny is not very happy, no,' Hermione agreed, rasping her fingertips over the paper. 'But she was very easily taken in by the gossip.'

'What have they been saying?' Harry asked, but if he was honest he didn't really want to know. He'd rather be back in the Room of Requirement with Draco, eating croissants.

Ron sighed dramatically, and Harry winced. 'Lavender claims to have seen you snogging Malfoy by the lake, and she cites Parvati as witness,' Hermione sighed. 'Which, if it's true, wasn't very tactful of you, Harry,' she admonished quietly.

'I wasn't snogging him,' Harry defended, a little too loudly and with a squeak in his voice. 'Malfoy – I mean, Lucius Malfoy had just died. He was upset.'

'I'm not,' Ron chipped in. 'The evil git deserved it.'

'Maybe,' Harry sighed. 'I feel like it's wrong to be happy about it.'

'And Draco certainly won't be,' Hermione was pensive. 'How is he?'

'I think he just, kind of, bottles it up,' Harry frowned, scratching at the arm of his chair with a nail. 'One minute he's upset and the next he's fine.'

'That's weird,' Ron observed. Hermione gave him a wry look, but nodded in agreement.

* * *

My apologies for the big gap in updates, and the short chapter – I've recently had the flu pretty badly and although I tried to write with a fever what I was producing was pretty weird stuff :) I'll try and make it up by getting another chapter up in a couple of days.

Thank you for all of the reads and reviews so far x


	10. Chapter 10

**Under the Influence**

**Summary: Harry is out of sorts, and it provides an opportunity Draco didn't even know he needed. HPDM, Post War/'Eighth' Year.**

_Author: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters therein._

* * *

_Chapter Ten – Equilibrium_

Harry found it relatively easy to suffer the uncomfortable attention of all and sundry as he made it through the day. In a way, he was lucky Hermione had signed his life away with preparatory work for his exams, because he had the perfect excuse to sit in silence and pore over his textbooks, trying to ignore the looks and whispers around him. It could be worse, he thought.

In fact, it probably would be worse, because just as he noticed Ginny striding purposefully towards his hiding place in the library, as did every other student present. He belatedly considered the possibility of turning over a new leaf, and discovering a penchant for running away from his problems, when he was bodily blocked in; by not only her lithe stature, but by two other unfamiliar Gryffindor girls waiting gleefully at the end of the isle.

It was almost as if they were pre-empting his fleeing, and suddenly Harry felt he desperately needed to.

'Look, Ginny,' he began as he tried to nonchalantly shuffle the books into his satchel. Maybe if he ran at them and skidded between their legs...

'Enough, Harry,' Ginny ordered imperially as she advanced forward. He picked up his potions book on reflex, suppressing the instinct to wield it as a shield as Ginny ran a thumb over the wand sticking out from her robe pocket. Give him dark lords any day, but a Bat Bogey hex from her was definitely something to avoid. 'We need to talk.'

'Yeah,' Harry readily agreed, fidgeting with the book's spine. 'Maybe in private? I'll just clear up -'

'No,' Ginny snapped, leaning with one hip against the desk and stretching out her legs. Harry would readily have bet that she thought the pose was elegant or dramatic; the unofficial break he'd created between them had only helped him come to terms with a handful of things, but one was definitely that Ginny was vain. Maybe not Draco vain, but still. 'We're fine here. After all, you didn't mind being out in public with Malfoy,' she spat out the name, gripping her wand tighter.

Harry winced, and sighed, looking uncomfortably at the girls behind her, who were whispering among themselves, and the book in his lap. 'I dunno what you've heard, but -'

'I've heard too much,' Ginny glared, exaggerating her pose with one hand firmly placed on her hip. 'Everyone's talking about it. I don't understand, Harry,' she sighed, running a hand carefully thorough her hair and tilting her chin back. 'I was waiting for you, and I'm still waiting for you. Whatever you have with Malfoy, being with him – it's not right!'

'I haven't been cheating on you,' Harry protested, before scrunching his eyebrows together. 'Wait, why is it not right?'

'Really?' Ginny gave him an incredulous look, and the girls' giggles and whispers grew louder still. 'He's a Death Eater! I don't even know how you of all people -'

'Me, 'of all people'?'

'The saviour, Harry! You shouldn't be giving him the time of day; he's a bad person,' Ginny affected a patient, reasonable tone, like she was talking to a child. 'I know you like to help people but you have other responsibilities now.'

Harry looked taken aback at that, and Ginny sighed at his confusion.

'Look, Harry. I believe you weren't snogging him. I mean, obviously that's ridiculous.' She gave a short, humourless laugh. 'But Malfoy's fine now, you don't need to look after him any more. He doesn't deserve it.' She sidled closer to him, sliding her hip across the edge of the wooden desk. 'I thought maybe now we could spend more time together.'

'I wasn't looking after him,' Harry protested quietly, gazing intently at his book and feeling overwhelmed. 'If anything, he was looking after me, helping me with work.'

'I can do that,' Ginny smiled. 'We're in the same year now, with nearly the same NEWTs. You don't have to spend any more time with him.'

'I wasn't doing it because I had to,' Harry said, giving Ginny a bland look. 'He's my friend.'

The titters behind her were quieter, as if her companions were listening intently to the conversation. Ginny stuttered for a second. 'Friend? But – why? Harry, I know you think you should save people, but Malfoy – he's not worth it! I mean, this is the same Malfoy who calls Hermione a mudblood, who thinks my family are blood traitors,' she spluttered, slipping a little from her perch on the ledge and hastily righting herself. 'And everyone thinks... Well, people are saying you're sleeping with him! Can you not see that that's wrong?'

'I'm not sleeping with him,' Harry offered, uncomfortable. Technically, that was a lie. 'He's different, he doesn't say things like that now. The war - '

'Yes, Harry, the war.' Ginny's voice went cold, and quiet. 'His kind killed Tonks and Lupin. They killed my brother.' Her voice hitched, and Harry's eyes stung.

'He didn't kill Fred,' Harry reasoned, short fingernails digging into the binding of his book.

'He might as well have!' Ginny snapped, tears welling up in her eyes. 'You have a responsibility to us, Harry. Not him.'

'What responsibility?' Harry snapped back, suddenly very irritated by the invasion of his privacy performed by the beaky, interested faces of students he didn't even recognise. He glared long and hard at them, making them shrink back. The books on the desk beside him began to rattle.

Ginny gave them a startled glance, but remained resolute. 'Your responsibility to me! And the part of the Wizarding world who didn't side with You-Know-Who,' she stuttered, losing confidence as Harry's face grew darker.

'I don't have a responsibility any more, Ginny,' Harry snapped, and his books began to levitate shakily behind him. 'I finished it when I killed him. Voldemort,' He added, purely for the vindictive pleasure of seeing the three of them suppress shudders. He realised as their gaze shifted from him to over his shoulder. 'What?'

Looking over himself, Harry nearly smashed his cheekbone on his copy of Advanced Defensive Spells. It was hovering unsteadily beside him, flapping open and snapping shut threateningly along with his other textbooks, save the one he had clamped safely in his hands. The roll of parchment he'd been using was swishing violently through the air like a pendulum, and his quill was quivering nervously, tip pointed at Ginny as if posed to fly up and gouge out her eyes.

Harry's eyes widened, and the objects responded to his sudden change in mood – dropping out of the air like stones to thump noisily down on the desk. Harry stared at them for a moment, consciously taking deep, calming breaths. When he turned to look at Ginny again she was considering him with startled eyes.

'Sorry,' Harry mumbled.

'Harry,' Ginny began, still eyeing the books with trepidation.

'Look, 'Gin,' Harry tried to look confident, sick of being on the receiving end of the conversation. 'What I want to say is, I don't want you to wait any more.'

Ginny looked from him, to the desk, to him again, and stared at him like he'd gone mad. 'What? Where did that come from?'

'Um, somewhere, I promise,' Harry looked a little stunned himself. 'I've been thinking, and it's not fair on you. I've spent a lot of time with Draco, and -'

'Merlin. Draco?' Ginny frantically pulled at her fingers. 'You're really – It's actually true? You're – You're dumping me for a DEATH EATER?'

'Ah – no, and he's not - '

'You – YOU BASTARD, HARRY POTTER!'

* * *

'And then you ran away?' Draco smiled as he decanted the frog's eyes.

'As fast as I could,' Harry confirmed, flipping morosely through his textbook.

'How did you get past her bodyguards?'

'I just ran at them,' Harry confessed, mumbling. 'After the floating thing they moved pretty quickly out of the way.'

'Accidental magic,' Draco observed, tapping out with a finger each time he completed a full stir. 'I only used to have them when I was little.'

'Me too,' Harry agreed, propping up his head with his chin in one hand. 'Which is a lot weirder when you don't know you're a wizard.'

'I can't imagine that,' Draco twirled his wand in a complicated gesture, then set a timer. 'Either way, they shouldn't be happening now.' He walked around the bench to join Harry on the other side, wiping his hands on a cloth as he looked pensive. 'How often has it been?'

'Um, four or five times, I think?' Harry closed his eyes as he tried to remember, and nearly jumped when he felt a hand gently ruffle his already unkempt hair.

'And always when you're angry?' He looked up to see Draco looming over him.

'No, once wasn't. I broke a mirror at the Weasley's at Fred's funeral,' Harry mumbled. Draco placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and he breathed deeply.

'I would say it was unusual, but you're probably used to hearing that by now,' Draco mused, smiling slightly.

'It's not my fault I'm special,' Harry defended, smirking back.

'Indeed,' Draco agreed, taking a seat on the stool next to his. 'So, do you consider your 'situation' with the She-Weasel entirely ended?'

'Well, she's probably going to try and hex me soon. But I don't think she wants to marry me any more,' Harry smiled wryly.

'That is a relief. I thought the two of you would produce some cloyingly irritating children, with silly names to fit,' Draco mused, leaning over to peer at the textbook.

'Hey, I bet I have excellent naming skills,' Harry tried to look offended, but soon gave up and slumped over the bench, obscuring Draco's view. 'I'm scared to go outside again. I might lose a limb.'

'With a lady Weasley, there is a significant risk. I heard what her mother did to my dear Auntie.'

'And good riddance,' Harry mumbled into his crossed arms.

'I emphatically agree.' Draco returned to his potion, cross referencing it with the book he unceremoniously dragged out from underneath Harry's prone form. 'You could always hide here.'

'I am hiding here,' Harry looked up, confused, and Draco rolled his eyes.

'Overnight, Potty.'

'Oh.' Harry blushed gently. 'Um, tomorrow's Monday.'

'Potions, second lesson,' Draco recited from his timetable. 'Time for a bit of a lie in, even.'

'Um,' Harry was suddenly very interested in his fingernails.

'I promise not to molest you, if that's what's making you uncomfortable,' Draco sniggered into his cauldron. 'Although, as I remember it, you did ask me to.'

Harry flushed even darker and mumbled unintelligibly into his jumper sleeve.

'What was it you said? 'Maybe you could teach me, oh handsome Draco,'' he cackled when Harry shot him a humoured glare.

'I think you embellished that a bit,' Harry observed.

'I only added the bits we both know you were thinking,' Draco reasoned, grinning.

'Sure you did,' Harry smiled, shuffling about in his bag for his own timetable. Draco was right; potions, second lesson. Merlin, how Harry hated potions. 'Okay.'

'Okay, what?' Draco stirred his concoction gently, glancing up curiously. 'Okay, you were thinking that?'

'No,' Harry rolled his eyes. 'Okay, I'll stay here tonight. I mean, if the offer is still open.'

Draco's eyes were predatory. 'Oh, Scarhead. The offer is always open.'

Harry shifted a little in his seat, blushing. 'What are you brewing, anyway?'

'Healing salve,' Draco shrugged, but Harry noticed how he was nervously fidgeting with the stirring rod.

'Why? I didn't think you needed to practice that one.'

'I don't,' Draco said offhand, flipping through the textbook. 'I'm just stocking up on stores. Same reason I brew hair potion – you never know when you'll need it.' He smirked at Harry, who still looked suspicious.

'Do you need it?' Draco avoided looking at him. 'Draco...'

'I may be more frequently on the receiving end of tripping and stinging hexes recently,' Draco shrugged again, firmly focusing on the book. 'Nothing serious enough to mention. After all, your magic might go around breaking my things.' On cue, a jar of fangs near him began to float upwards. Draco firmly grasped it, and set it down again.

Harry focused on breathing regularly. 'Slytherins?'

'No, Hufflepuffs,' Draco scoffed. 'Yes, Slytherins. Look, we both know it could be worse,' he thumbed the raised line of the scar on his neck.

'It could be better,' Harry grumbled.

'And life could be full of kittens and rainbows,' Draco drawled. 'Either way, my potion is done. Want to change the room?'

Harry watched quietly as Draco carefully decanted the iridescent goo into a jar, and wordlessly took it from him, ignoring his questioning look and shuffling dutifully outside the room to change it into the one he remembered from that morning.

As they re-entered, Harry grumpily dumped his things on the floor and pushed Draco over to the bed.

'No offence, Potter, but I had imagined it to be a bit more elegant than that,' Draco quipped, unsure.

'That's not what I meant, you git,' Harry blushed. 'Just sit down and tell me where you're bruised, so I can put this on.'

'If I said 'in my pants', would you hit me?'

'Yes,' Harry said flatly, and Draco laughed.

'Alright. There's just a few on my arms and back, then,' he said, unbuttoning his charcoal grey shirt. Harry hissed quietly when he saw the little purple and blue smudges peppered across Draco's forearms, and had a brief staring contest with the snake of the Dark Mark, which happily was as lifeless as ever.

'There's a lot,' he muttered, gently smearing the opalescent white across the marks.

'It could be worse,' Draco repeated, firmly, catching his eye, and Harry stared back defiant until he smiled. 'As a positive, it means I get personal service from the Chosen One.'

'You don't have to be injured to get that,' Harry replied innocently.

'Oooh,' Draco laughed, and Harry flushed a dark red that reached his ears.

'Shut up,' he muttered, shifting to sit on the bed and start on Draco's back. Some of the marks were dark little circles, like a wand tip had been pressed hard into the flesh, and some spread out like stars; Harry attributed those to particularly vicious stinging hexes. He smoothed the cream gently over them, watching as the liquid shimmered and was absorbed quickly into the skin. 'Okay, done.'

'Good, now put the fire on, servant,' Draco ordered, and Harry shoved him gently, shuffling to stand up and do as ordered since the room was growing colder.

'Do you remember what we'll be doing in potions tomorrow?' Harry called out as the hearth roared to life with slightly more gusto than he'd intended.

'It's a lecture on the properties and uses of holly root, so sleeping, probably,' Draco examined his shirt in his hands, deciding to forgo putting it back on when he noticed little scorch marks on the back, darker against the grey thread. 'Although judging by your current performance, maybe you should pay attention.'

'I'll try,' Harry lied through his teeth. Draco looked up at the tone, and rolled his eyes, smiling.

'You'll have to, because I'm not taking notes for you,' he declared, joining Harry by the fire and slumping down into an armchair.

'No shirt?' Harry questioned from his own chair.

'Entirely too warm for one,' Draco grinned, and mimed flexing his muscles, making Harry chuckle.

They sat quietly for a while. Draco reached over to steal the Marauder's Map, intoning the incantation in a mutter and quizzically reading the dramatic script of the introduction. 'Where did you say you'd gotten this map exactly, Potter?'

'I didn't,' Harry muttered, curled up sleepily in his chair. At Draco's offended glare he grinned. 'The Weasley twins, originally. So I could sneak out for Hogsmeade visits.'

'Which year?'

'Third.' Draco considered that for a moment, returning to inspect the map with a slight frown creasing his forehead. A thought suddenly occurred to Harry as he observed the blond's expression, and he sniggered to himself.

'What?' Draco's head snapped up.

'Nothing,' Harry smirked, looking away at the fire.

'Potter,' Draco's voice was a warning. Harry was entirely unimpressed, and glanced out of the enchanted window to catch sight of the first few flakes of snowfall, smiling at the coincidence.

'Did you know,' he began, shuffling his seat closer to the fire, 'that there's a ghost that haunts the Shrieking Shack?'

'I'm aware of the rumour,' Draco narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

'Well, did you know his head floats around without a body?' Draco's eyes narrowed further. 'I've also heard he happens to look a lot like me - argh!'

'I knew it was you, you bastard!' Draco roughly tried to suffocate him with a cushion, and when Harry impeded him, cackling and flailing, he compromised with just burying him in blankets and sitting on him. 'When you die you can go haunt the shack!'

'Mmmmf!' Harry's laughs were muffled by the covers, and a merciful Draco lifted up enough to allow him to free his head. 'Mercy,' Harry gasped out, grinning, trying to dig his way out but impeded by Draco's weight on his lap.

'You absolute bastard,' Draco laughed, stealing Harry's spectacles, which had been knocked askew. 'You deserve no mercy.' He put on the specs, crossing his eyes at the blurry vision. 'Do you have a quill? I want to draw on a scar.'

Harry managed to free himself fully as Draco trotted away, gulping at fresh air in between sniggers. 'I think you can do without – that looks weird enough already.'

'How dare you, Potter. Everyone knows I look good in everything,' Draco called over his shoulder, rooting through his bag.

'You certainly look better in them than me,' Harry muttered to himself, carefully attempting to de-tangle his legs from a quilt.

'How nice of you to notice,' Draco drawled from directly behind him, brandishing a quill and making Harry jump in surprise. 'Are you quite stuck?'

'Your trap is no match for me,' Harry unsuccessfully tried kicking it away, laughing at his own failure.

'Shame,' Draco stood on a corner, allowing Harry to break free of his fabric foil. 'I would so like to be the one thing Harry Potter couldn't outdo.'

Harry grinned at him, circle lensed glasses perched elegantly on the end of his nose and one thin eyebrow raised in sarcastic humour. His bright hair was messy, and Harry self-consciously patted a hand at his own.

'Hair potion,' Draco stated firmly. He tapped the quill to his chin in thought, before using the tip of the feather to brush Harry's chaotic fringe aside to see the scar. The feeling of the gentle contact against his skin made Harry shudder, and Draco smiled. 'A lightning bolt.'

'It's ugly,' Harry muttered, feeling scrutinised and batting the quill away.

'It's not,' Draco assured, his voice suggesting it was less a complement and more a definite fact. 'It's very apt. It describes you.'

'What, I'm dangerous?' Harry smiled wryly.

'Yes,' Draco smirked. 'But I was going to say something different.'

'Go on,' Harry's curiosity was peaked. Draco bit his lip, smiling, and leaned in.

'A flash of light, in darkness,' he murmured in Harry's ear. 'And,' he paused, gripping the arm of the chair and observing the scar.

'And?' Harry tried not to shudder again, at the feeling of Draco's breath on his cheek.

'Well, I certainly feel like I've been struck by lighting.'

* * *

'Draco, those stinging hexes,' Harry lay still on his back on the bed, sheets thrown off and staring at the ceiling. 'Were they from Nott?'

'No,' Draco murmured into the pillow. He was splayed out on his side, one forearm pressed along Harry's side and legs tangled up in the bedclothes. 'He'd probably consider it a bit beneath him. In fact, I haven't seen much of him at all,' he brought up one hand to press a finger to the line on his neck.

'That's not good,' Harry thought aloud, glaring at the ceiling like it had offended him.

'Me not being stabbed is not good?'

'No!' Harry jerked onto his side to face him, replying a bit too loudly in the quiet room. He relaxed a little when he saw Draco's teasing smirk. 'No. Nott being quiet is not good. He might be planning something.'

'I practically live in here now, Potty. I'll be fine.'

'You will be fine,' Harry agreed, hand twitching towards an imaginary wand in his imaginary pocket, the both of them dressed only in underwear.

'My hero,' Draco sighed dramatically, reaching out to pat him gently on the cheek. He rested his palm there for a moment, drawing the pad of his thumb over Harry's cheekbone, before withdrawing. 'Perhaps you should worry less about that and more about your NEWTs, Chosen One.'

'That's what lessons are for,' Harry grinned, hissing at the sharp slap he received on his arm. 'You're a cruel man.'

'Cruel to be kind,' Draco assured, smoothing a hand over the assaulted area. 'Now go to sleep.'

'I'm not tired,' Harry whined.

'I would have thought you'd be exhausted, the day you've had. Running all over the castle to escape an angry She-Weasel.'

Ah, see, I used the cloak. She lost me on the second floor.' Harry beamed, triumphant.

'I'll remember that one, so you can't use it on me,' Draco warned. He poked him on the head for good measure.

'I wouldn't dare,' Harry assured. 'You're much scarier.'

'I'm glad we agree on something.' Draco shivered, and pulled the sheets further up over his shoulder. 'What are you, some kind of fire demon?' Draco said, eyeing Harry's exposed body with suspicion. Harry ferreted under the covers, curious, to touch Draco on the arm, comparing temperatures.

'What are you, some kind of ice princess?' He shuffled closer, neatly catching the sharp prod aimed at his ribs.

'Prince, at least, Potty. Unless you want me to hex you in your sleep,' Draco growled, but happily accepted the embrace anyway. He burrowed closer to fit in between the boy's arms, resting his forehead on his collarbone and sliding a leg between Harry's.

'Go ahead and try,' Harry smiled into his hair.

'You'll regret that very soon,' Draco murmured sleepily.

I'm still not tired, so I doubt it,' Harry sighed. Draco laughed quietly, and he felt the gusts of hot breath as they ghosted across his bare chest. 'I'll have to count hippogriffs.'

'I have a suggestion.'

'No, I'm not going to read my potions book.'

'That is indeed a good suggestion, but not the one I was going to make,' Draco shifted back a bit to look at him, smirking.

'What then?' Harry asked, confused.

'What indeed,' Draco's smirk grew.

'Eh? Oh – mmmh.' Harry gasped out in realisation a moment before Draco's mouth latched onto his. He belatedly remembered to close the eyes he'd widened in surprise, and took the time to focus on the feeling of the kiss.

Harry could swear Draco was still smirking as he eased them both over, gently pressing him into the bed and hovering slightly above him. He reached up to allow him to relax a little, and sighed into Draco's mouth when their chests pressed together.

Gryffindor courage still gladly intact, he soothed a damp tongue over the the softness of Draco's full lower lip, ghosting the pads of his fingers over the line of his jaw. Feeling Draco's lips part with the smallest of gaps, he licked and nipped with controlled enthusiasm, drawing the hand down a long, pale neck to grip the other boy low on his waist.

Draco pulled back slightly, separating them with a soft sound, and sat straddling his hips with an incredulous expression.

'Potter,' he began in a gruff voice, before clearing his throat. 'Potter, you said you were a virgin.'

'Yeah?'

'So, how are you so good at this?'

Harry just grinned, and sat up to kiss him again.

* * *

Welcome to the cheesiest thing I've ever written :) Less adult than I was planning, so I will definitely more than make up with that in the very near future (cough drarry porn cough).

Art for this fic at theclayrsaw me dot tumblr dot com, and as of the 31st on that site there will also be a little dialogue free comic page of the library scene way back in chapter 1.

Please review if you have time, and thank you for reading so far – you're awesome.


	11. Chapter 11

**Under the Influence**

**Summary: Harry is out of sorts, and it provides an opportunity Draco didn't even know he needed. HPDM, Post War/'Eighth' Year.**

_Author: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters therein._

* * *

_Chapter Eleven – Peril_

'Maybe we should go in separately,' Harry mumbled at the floor as they rounded the corner.

'Potter, we both missed breakfast. It's a bit late to consider subtlety now.'

'Yeah, I know, but...' Harry baulked at the sight of the approaching classroom door, having hoped they'd somehow just walk around the castle for eternity and never have to actually face the world again. 'This is going to be horrible.'

'That wasn't what you were saying last night,' Draco smirked, sneaking a quick glance into the room before leaning back against the wall beside it. 'We're still early, so your doom is not yet upon us.'

'I wasn't being that dramatic,' Harry grimaced. 'Shit. Why me?'

'Careful, Potter. You'll have me convinced you consider me a mistake.' Draco was still smirking but looked awkwardly off to his side, faking fascination with the stonework of the wall behind him.

'No! I didn't mean that. I meant...' Harry sighed. 'People are dicks.'

'Well said.'

'I don't think this is a mistake.'

'Duly noted.'

Harry sighed again. 'Sit next to me?'

Draco looked at him again, trying to school his face into a nonchalant expression but letting a tiny smile escape. 'Are you sure about that?'

'Certain. I can copy your notes. Ow,' Harry chuckled as he was smacked on the side of the head. 'Okay, I'm ready.'

'_Apr__ès tu_, then,' Draco swept an arm in gesture towards the door, then just shoved Harry through it when he looked back askance.

They were greeted by an almost empty room, save a couple of students; one, of course, was a bright eyed Hermione, who invited them over with a frantic flap of her hand as she decanted what seemed to be the entire contents of her bag onto her desk.

'Hey, 'Mione,' Harry began, but he was quickly interrupted.

'How much trouble is he in?'

Hermione gave Draco a considering look at being so abruptly addressed, but he seemed to pass some inexplicable test in her mind. 'He's been through worse. Including a broken nose,' she added with a jerk of her chin.

Draco diplomatically ignored the latter part. 'Ah, but hell hath no fury.'

'Yes, there is certainly a lot of fury,' Hermione conceded, returning her attention to her books, and Harry shook himself into focus after glancing to and fro at his companions like he was watching a tennis match.

'As in, hex level fury?' He winced at the thought.

'Definitely. And she's telling everyone who'll listen about Malfoy, the Death Eater home-wrecker,' Hermione sniffed disapprovingly at Draco's proud grin. 'I do love Ginny, but she's not particularly subtle. Much like someone else I know,' she gave Harry a pointed look, and he blushed.

'Yeah, well,' Harry mumbled at the table. 'Erm-'

'Must dash, Potions to learn,' Draco sang out, tipping an invisible hat to Hermione and dragging a spluttering Harry away by the arm, depositing him at a desk at the back of the room. 'And you will be learning.'

Harry sent an apologetic look back towards Hermione, and was put out to see her attention already distracted by something else. 'There's no fun in that, though.' He wondered if maybe she would be the less nagging option of the two.

'Fun does not help you get an 'Outstanding,'' Draco decided, rooting in his bag for his textbook and scrolls. Harry shuffled to do the same, with a sad, resigned air that made Draco smile.

'If only,' Harry muttered, collapsing into his seat. He held his breath when he noticed the rest of reasonably large class of students began to filter through the doorway. True to expectation, he caught the sharp glances and judging looks, and even burying his head into his arms didn't stop the sharp hisses of whispers reaching his ears. Just another year at Hogwarts, he thought darkly.

He rested his the side of his head against his crossed arms, hard enough to hear the quiet roar of his own pulse, and considered the boy next to him with his one unobstructed eye. Draco was gently depositing his textbook and parchment onto their shared desk, sweeping away the abandoned quills and vials that obscured it with a flick of his wand. Harry watched his face, brow furrowed slightly in far off thought, and flushed a little when Draco caught his eye.

'What?'

'Nothing,' Harry mumbled into his uniform jumper, groaning as he lifted his head again to set about retrieving his own things. 'Holly root?' He despondently rifled through the pages of his potions textbook.

'Page 213,' Draco offered, in a distracted voice. Harry looked up in curiosity to see the blond squinting at the students at the front of the room, before shrugging and reaching over to find the relevant page for him. 'There. Although you still need to pay attention to the examples, since the book doesn't describe the potions and understanding the colours is integral.'

'What was that?' Harry frowned.

'What, I'm not allowed to know about the lectures?' Draco flashed him a slightly contemptuous smile as he rolled out his parchment, setting it with a charm.

'No, that look,' Harry shook his head, searching the room himself for what had caused it. 'Something wrong?'

'Ah. I just thought I saw someone pointing a wand our way,' Draco flapped a hand over his shoulder as he returned his bag to the floor. 'Hardly unusual. Old habits, I suppose.'

'Nott isn't in this class,' Harry thought out loud, trying to inspect each classmate individually. Despite Draco's nonchalance, the idea made his skin itch.

'A stroke of luck, given that even without malcontent his creations were almost as bad as Longbottom's.'

Harry cringed in sympathy for his friend, but kept glancing suspiciously out at the others present, until Slughorn's droning voice slowly but completely drowned out his ability to think.

* * *

'What do you have now?' Draco carefully packed his textbook away, before sighing and reaching out to poke Harry sharply on the arm, rousing him from his daydream.

'Um, Charms, I think. Which hopefully won't be an hour of ranting,' Harry huffed, glaring down at his notes, unintelligible even to him.

'Do ask Granger to try and keep you awake, although now I realise what a difficult task it is,' Draco rolled his eyes, slinging the strap of his satchel across his body and adjusting it so it didn't muss his uniform. Harry rolled his eyes back at him. 'Unless you're planning on getting by in life with reputation and dashing good looks.'

'Worked so far,' Harry grinned, sweeping an arm across the desk to scoop everything into his open bag. Draco winced as they heard the clacking noise of ink pots colliding at the bottom.

'I'll be in Runes,' Draco fidgeted with his sleeve, watching the rest of the class slowly filter out of the room. 'If you get in trouble... I don't know, send an owl or something.'

'I'll try not to, just for you,' Harry frowned. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' Draco rebuffed, shrugging. 'Something just feels – it's nothing. Enjoy Charms, yeah?' He smirked at Harry's comically morose expression. 'See you at lunch.'

'Send me an owl too, if anything happens, okay?' Harry mimed writing in the air. 'Dear Potter, being viciously attacked, best wishes, Draco Malfoy. Kiss kiss kiss.'

Draco flipped him a rude gesture as he sauntered from the room, leaving Harry chuckling in his wake.

* * *

Harry caught sight of a few strands of Hermione's chaotic curls just as they rounded the corner of the forth floor corridor, and stumbled over a few little awkward hops trying to catch up. His bag – possibly ruined beyond repair, after he caught it on a door handle and tore it almost in two in his hurry – hung limply at his side, his possessions kept inside by a magical defiance of gravity; and only barely so, as a pair of quills slipped free and fluttered to the stone floor behind him, forcing him to stop and pick them up.

He cursed under his breath, breaking into a jog as he tucked his quills into a robe pocket. On the one hand, it was nice that he wasn't openly hated this year. On the other hand, it was bloody annoying to be late for almost every lesson, because you'd been blocked into a corner by adoring fans and had had to eventually spell your way free.

And he could have sworn that door handle moved, caught his bag on purpose, because if all the world was being awkward, then why not the castle, too?

And another thing...

Harry paused.

He jerked to a stop, standing still and clutching his destroyed bag to his hip. A quiet, but piercingly clear peal of a sound had cut its way though his monologue, and echoed in his head even after he could no longer hear it. The corridor was empty save him – he was definitely late for Charms – and the sound had made the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand to attention before he'd properly registered it.

That was a bad sound, his instinct told him.

Harry slowly lowered the tattered bag to the floor, easing it over to the wall by his heel. He drew his wand and stood poised for a moment, listening intently to the quiet murmur of students in the classrooms beyond him, until he began to feel a bit foolish and over paranoid. He shuffled his feet a little, giving the empty space one last look over before leaning down for his things, when a sharp movement caught the corner of his eye.

A sharp look up revealed the shape of another student, far off down the end of the corridor and partially blocked by the archway. Harry squinted and moved to raise one hand in greeting just as he raised his wand hand in defence, and he tried to place the face of the person with the hundreds he'd met who attended the school – he wasn't sure, but she looked a bit like...

The sound ripped into Harry then, a sharp, pealing tone that overlapped and distorted the sound of an incantation cried out from metres away. He flourished his own wand, but barely managed to mouth the first few syllables of _expelliarmus_ before the light hit him; a large, tangible beam of amber yellow like a dirty ray of sun that stung as it collided with his shoulder, knocking him backwards to the floor.

Harry squinted to see the person flee, dark hair flicking up with the motion and disappearing behind the arch just as Hermione's had done. He rolled onto his side, breathed a few heavy gasps, and vomited.

* * *

Draco had forgotten one very important fact about Runes.

Nott was in his class.

Draco began to wonder whether maybe sending a letter by owl to Harry might actually be a stroke of genius, as his neck ached with the constant effort of keeping his head bowed, and his ears burned with the heat of Nott's glares from across the room. Dear Potter, he thought, please burst into my lesson and pretend there's another war so that I may escape. Post haste. Yours, Mr. Draco Malfoy.

Between the glaring, droning lecture and fear for his own life, Draco wasn't getting much done. Except drafting a number of letters to Harry in his head, and then eventually just plain writing them down on his notes.

Dear Potter,

I enquire to you as to the possibility of abandoning exams if favour of another venture; to whit, muscle-for-hire. Mayhap you would best fit the role of muscle and yours truly would address finances.

Please advise.

Yours sincerely,

Draco Malfoy.

Nott's glares weren't of the angry type, and that was perhaps what made Draco so uncomfortable. Instead, they were lingering, considering looks, like Nott was deciding the best way to gut an animal carcass. Draco didn't want to be that animal.

Dear Harry Potter,

I've heard you're good at disrupting things. Disrupt this, perhaps?

Regards,

Draco Malfoy.

Pansy was beginning to give him looks, too, but they were more concerned than predatory, and for that Draco was grateful. Although she had rather sensibly chosen to keep her distance from him – and, he'd noticed, many of the other students – recently he'd noted an increasing interest in him and what he was doing. Maybe she was trying to work out how to also get into the Golden Club's good books. Unlikely she'd manage.

Dear Harry,

Please help.

Draco.

He considered the last 'letter' for a moment, and slowly scratched out three small crosses below his name.

* * *

Harry propped himself up on the wall, and blearily considered his situation for a moment. His head hurt. His stomach was churning, but it seemed he was done with throwing up for now, which he absent-mindedly concluded as being a good thing. His bag was still terribly broken, but Harry didn't really see why that was a big issue; he hadn't really wanted to go to lessons anyway.

Really, right now what Harry wanted to do was go flying, or, maybe, maybe swimming in the lake. Yes, it was cold outside with it being winter and everything, but actually right now he was too hot in his shirt and jumper, and his tie was restrictive, and a swim might cool him down.

Maybe Draco would want to go swimming with him; he'd better go ask him.

* * *

By the time Draco realised the lesson was beginning to wind down, he was already attempting to quietly but frantically collect his things with a clumsiness that was atypical enough to draw the attention of his classmates. He wasn't sure, since he'd tried for the last hour to steadfastly avoid catching the gaze of his assailant, but he thought Nott might be smiling.

He hissed when he accidentally tipped over a pot of ink, and flapped in irritation at the vacant headed Hufflepuff girl next to him when she awkwardly tried to right it. In his head, he was already trying to plot the fastest and most public way of getting from the classroom to the Great Hall, and how unethical it might be to also seize a passing first year as a human shield, should the need arise.

He hated it, but Harry was right. One creepy look from Nott, and he was preparing himself for his inevitable death.

* * *

Harry knew he'd spend the past Merlin knows how long – possibly the entire duration of his Charms lesson – rolling about on the floor and waddling into walls, but he couldn't help considering it a job well done.

He'd only thrown up twice, and considered leaping through an invitingly open window like an eagle owl, when he realised that that particular desire, and the one to wade into the near frozen lake in his underwear, weren't quite normal. The ambling gait he took towards his class only to walk into a wall confirmed something wasn't quite right.

Obviously, that girl had cast a spell on him. Yes, Harry thought, that definitely matched up properly. With the words and the wand and the light thing, that definitely spelled out a spell. Harry giggled into the tapestry he'd pressed his face into, further upsetting a particularly haughty pair of woven unicorns. Spelled out a spell. Ha.

But wait, why? Harry knew there were still a few people knocking about who didn't like him much. But that girl didn't have red hair, and as far as he knew he hadn't accidentally cheated on anyone else, and she definitely didn't have grey skin and no nose, and even Draco admitted Harry was quite nice now.

Harry's stomach rolled again, and he moaned into the fabric. Filch would hang him up by his thumbs if he threw up again. Harry had never been hung by his thumbs, but logic said it wouldn't be fun.

* * *

Nott was following him through the school. Draco had taken a particularly obvious detour around the ground floor, and even ducked through a surprised gaggle of third years, and Nott was still on his tail like he was hunting him.

Fuck, Draco thought, he probably was. He lamented that now was definitely too late to worry about his last will and testament. Dear Merlin, please let his mother not go through his private stash of magazines. There were some things in there she was better off not seeing.

Draco, caught up is his inappropriate musing, took a wrong turn, and it was possibly the last, and most ridiculously stupid, thing he'd ever do.

'Harry, what – bloody hell, mate!'

'Hiiiii, Ron,' Harry sang out from his entirely comfortable situation of being pressed at an angle, forehead-first, against a painting, arms dangling in the empty space beneath him. 'Hello.'

Ron stood dumbfounded for a moment, taking in his blood-shot eyes and innocent, slack jawed expression. 'You've been hexed again.'

Harry almost applauded, but he'd be risking falling over and since Ron was trying to help him up it would be rude to hit him in the face. He frowned dramatically, poking Ron hard in the shoulder when he realised his friend had gotten to that conclusion much faster than Harry himself had managed. Stupid clever Ron. Hermione must be rubbing off on him.

Eww.

'Yus, so it would seem,' Harry drawled, tapping himself on the nose and narrowly avoiding poking himself in the eye. 'I only threw up twice, Ron,' he stated proudly.

'Er, well done, mate.'

* * *

I'm very happy to bring to an end that unannounced hiatus, and I hope you're pleased to have me back!

For those who may be interested; I was frustratingly tied up because of a few hospital visits and my epic adventure of changing universities. For those who don't care, I'll shut up and and keep writing, and supplement this short update with another one very soon now the story is picking up. :)

Thanks for reading. x


	12. Chapter 12

**Under the Influence**

**Summary: Harry is out of sorts, and it provides an opportunity Draco didn't even know he needed. HPDM, Post War/'Eighth' Year.**

_Author: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters therein._

* * *

_Chapter Twelve – Saviour_

_**Warning – This chapter contains violence and abusive language.**_

Shit, shit shit shit shitshitshit. Draco was going to die.

'Well, Malfoy,' Nott hissed, spittle decorating his awful grin and backing Draco into a corner. 'Ready to have some fun?'

'Not really, no,' Draco replied, cocking one eyebrow. There was no need to panic. Draco was still armed with his wand, and entirely capable besides.

'Expelliarmus!' He cried out, pointing it at Nott's sneering face. His wand shuddered in his hand, and gave the pathetic spark of an inexpertly struck flint. Shit.

Nott flicked his own wand, and Draco's was wrenched aggressively from his desperate grasp to clatter pathetically on the stone a few metres away. 'Oh dear,' he smirked. 'I expected a bit more than that.'

'So did I,' Draco shot a quick, sad glance after it. 'I suppose I'll have to make do.'

'With what?' Nott snorted. 'Going to grope me to death, queer?'

Draco huffed a laugh even as he backed awkwardly into the wall behind him. 'Please, Nott. I do have standards.'

'Sure, standards. You'll only whore yourself out to blood traitors, for protection.' Nott slipped a hand into his robe pocket, and smiled. 'You're disgusting.'

'Indeed, that is all an unfortunate misunderstanding.' Draco's back met the wall, and he tried to verbally summon his wand back to him, to no avail. 'Perhaps if you'd pursued this conversation with a tad less drama then we'd be able to discuss the particulars.'

'I'm not here for a conversation,' Nott chuckled, and the knife Draco was all too familiar with made a re-appearance.

* * *

'Someone hexed me, Ron,' Harry observed conversationally, hanging heavily from Ron's shoulder. 'Again.'

'So I've noticed,' Ron answered wryly, propping Harry against a wall with care in order to pick up his destroyed bag and scattered belongings. 'The same one too, I think. '_Inebrio menti_', Hermione called it.'

'Feels like I'm drunk,' Harry muttered into the wall.

'Er, yeah, mate. You need to practice your Latin.'

* * *

'Definitely no Potter to save you this time,' Nott murmured into Draco's face as he pinned him to the wall. The knife was out of his sight, but Draco was sure he kept catching the splinters of light it reflected in the corner of his eye.

'Are you sure you can be so certain? Potter is a particularly pervasive bastard when the mood strikes him,' Draco drawled, eyes trained on the corridor beyond them in hope. Did Harry have the map? Merlin, he hoped so.

'Oh, I'm sure of it,' Nott chuckled, and there was the knife, drawing upwards to trace the air just above Draco's cheek. 'Potter won't be bothering us any time soon.'

Draco's eyes narrowed, and he tried not to flinch as the coldness of the blade rested against his skin. 'What did you do to him?'

'I didn't do anything,' Nott's eyes widened in dramatic innocence, lips thinning in an grotesque smirk. 'Why, I've been in Runes the whole time.'

Draco did flinch then, when Nott leaned closer and the knife bit at his flesh. His eyes strained to look at his abandoned wand, lying uselessly on the floor. No wand, no Potter. Hogwarts was a busy school. Was it really too much to hope that another student might walk by?

'Who was it?' Draco spat, turning to Nott with contempt.

'Who was who?' Draco's cheek began to stream, warm slickness gliding over the contours of his face.

'The bastard you used to distract Harry.'

* * *

'My point is, Ron. My point is...' Harry looked out of a window, and was immediately distracted by the passing of an owl. Ron sighed.

'Harry, mate. We need to get you to the infirmary.'

'Why?' He swung his head around in a woozy motion, and teetered unsteadily on his feet. Ron moved forward, just in case he needed to catch him if he fell. 'It just – wore off, last time.'

'Hermione said it's easily cast wrong – you know, like last time, too. She says it can do you damage, maybe even be permanent. Which is why it's a restricted spell.'

'Feels right this time,' Harry sighed into a glass pane. 'Feel sick.'

'Please don't throw up on my shoes again,' Ron whined plaintively.

* * *

'Tell you what, Malfoy,' Nott hissed, as he grasped Draco harder by the arm. 'We're going to go into this room here, and you're going to tell me just what treats you get for being a dirty little slut.'

Draco hissed back - inelegantly, like a cat – as he tried and failed to stop himself being dragged into an unused classroom by an unforgiving, steel hold on his forearm. 'Want something to wank over later, Nott?' He spat out his own blood as it trickled down his face. The quips were a very bad idea. He thought his nose might be broken. 'I'm afraid what happens to my arse is my own business.' Shut up, Draco.

'You're fucking disgusting, Malfoy,' Nott seethed as he shoved him over towards a desk. The reduced pressure on Draco's arm convinced him to attempt to flee, and he was quickly slammed back into the table by Nott's _incarcerous. _'Shut the fuck up, or I'll gag you.'

'I'm sure you'd enjoy that,' Draco leered, and spun forcefully to the side with the strength of Nott's blow to his face, biting his own tongue and grimacing at the rapid flow of warm blood building in his mouth. 'But,' he spat, 'it seems sadism is your real fetish.'

Nott raised his hand again at that, but paused, smirking at Draco's answering wince.

* * *

'Did you see who did it, this time?' Ron hauled Harry bodily upwards again, making the other boy reel with motion sickness and totter even more unpredictably.

'Mhhhuh,' Harry considered the question, catching a flailing hand on the wall and bravely deciding to support his own weight.

'And? Was it Nott?'

'No? No, not Nott,' Harry wrinkled his nose at Ron, and Ron could swear he could hear the very moment that statement clicked together with a little ring in Harry's addled mind. 'Ha.'

'Who, then, mate?'

'I 'unno, Ronny. This girl... student person.'

* * *

Nott, apparently not completely confident in his quaint little hiding place, left Draco to his own devices for a moment as he spelled the door locked and silenced the room. Every flick of his wand was an icy dagger in Draco's heart, and he unsuccessfully yanked at his bonds.

Nott smiled wryly at Draco's struggle, and tutted. 'Not much point in that, is there?'

'Not much point in this entire situation,' Draco snorted, before his head snapped to the side with the force of Nott's backhand. 'I am curious, though,' he added, spitting out blood, 'what exactly your plan here is.'

Nott flicked the knife to and fro in a poignant non-verbal response. Draco nodded at that, a little exasperatedly, and flinched when Nott jerked towards him.

'Yes, I understand that part. What I mean is, after you kill me, what happens next?'

'Who says I'm going to kill you, Malfoy?'

'My apologies,' Draco spat again, but his teeth must have cut the inside of his mouth with the blow and the flow of hot blood was unrelenting. 'Although I must warn you - I make a terrible pet, if that's what you're considering. I'm a right bastard for chewing the furniture.'

* * *

'Slytherin?'

'I dunno, Ron. Maybe. Definitely girl. All the hair, and the... the boobs.'

'Why would anyone want to hex you?' Ron wondered aloud, impeding Harry's body on it's determined mission to have a cozy little meeting with the floor. 'It sounds like a Slytherin thing to me, mate.'

'Maybe they heard I don't like boobs. All the girls.'

'Yeah, mate, maybe they're offended and banded together,' Ron rolled his eyes. 'Since when was this, anyway?'

'Malfoy doesn't have boobs, Ron,' Harry stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

* * *

'Some of us think you need to be taught a lesson, Malfoy. That's all,' Nott slid a fingertip over the blade. Draco snorted from his awkward, very uncomfortable placement, half standing, half slumped over a desk as the _incarcerous_ charm drew his limbs tightly towards his body, legs locked together.

'You and the voices in your head have a meeting, did you?'

'You know, it was useful of Potter to interrupt us last time,' Nott continued, unperturbed by Draco's sneering quips. 'It gave me a nice perspective. I thought to myself, 'Theo, why just kill Malfoy?''

'I'm not sure where this is going, Nott; but I'd prefer my trousers stayed on.'

'Why just kill you, Malfoy? When there's a much bigger prize. Potter is so fond of you now, isn't he.' It wasn't a question, but Draco comically licked his lips anyway, leering. Nott's eyes narrowed in disgust. 'It seems you're terribly close. That's just too useful to pass up on.'

'Potter didn't tell me where he keeps his Gringotts key,' Draco shook his head sadly. 'Terribly sorry.'

'Money is nice, but Potter dead is much nicer.' Nott smirked, and Draco laughed in his face, only to earn another sharp smack to the jaw.

'Potter isn't very easy to kill. Recent events should have indicated as such, you mindless twat,' he sneered back.

'I'm not so sure. You see, Malfoy, I've realised something – when you trust someone, you let your guard down.'

* * *

'So you and Malfoy are a thing now, yeah?'

'Yeah, I guess,' Harry mumbled, stalking along on wobbly limbs beside Ron, like a new-born foal just finding his feet. 'I mean, I've kissed him and stuff.'

Ron lead him gently by the arm, making slow but steady progress to the infirmary. 'I don't want to hear about the 'and stuff' bit, thanks.'

'It's really weird, Ron,' Harry spoke emphatically to the floor, making Ron laugh. 'No, like. Weirrrd. He's really nice.'

'Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it,' Ron chuckled. 'Have you told Ginny? And Hermione?'

'Ginny's pissed,' Harry sighed into his own shoulder. 'She'll probably hex him. Or me, or both, or everyone. Hex the castle and laugh. Mwa ha ha.'

'Sounds like Ginny,' Ron smiled. 'Better Ginny than Nott, though – he'll just have to learn the Bat-Bogey counter curse.'

'Nott,' Harry said, voice strange.

'What?'

'Ron, where's my map?'

* * *

'The person you used to distract him is someone he trusts, then.' Draco nodded, sighing. Nott just laughed, and stalked back and forth across the room, stopping every now and then to flick his knife through the air. 'No?'

'The person I use to kill him will be someone he trusts.'

'Who?'

Nott just laughed again.

* * *

'Hold on, mate, I think I saw it in your bag...' Ron rifled through the torn satchel, propping a wobbly Harry up with one shoulder. 'Two minutes.'

'Map, map map map,' Harry said, and each word grew more frantic.

* * *

'I won't hurt him,' Draco bit out.

'How do you know?' Nott asked, and cut a shallow, sloping line down Draco's nose, squinting one eye like an artist.

'You can torture me all you want. Won't hurt him.'

'I wasn't going to torture you.' Nott's eyes were innocently wide. 'It's much more elegant than that.'

* * *

'Where is he?'

'Where is who?'

Harry made desperate grabby hands, landing hard on one shoulder against a wall and rifling his hands over the worn parchment. 'Need to find Draco, Ron,' he mumbled, peering over the classrooms.

'He'll be in lessons. I don't get it,' Ron replied, dutifully poring over the map. 'We're looking for him why?'

Harry just moaned loudly in frustration.

* * *

'I don't care, Nott. You can't make me do anything.. oh.' Shit.

Fuck shit fuck fuck fuck.

'Realise, did you?' Nott twirled his wand in his hands. 'Think I can get you to do it while he's asleep?'

'I'll throw myself in the lake,' Draco hissed, teeth clenched. 'I'll fight it off – he's done it, so it's possible.'

'I look forward to seeing you try,' Nott chuckled, pointing the wand tip steadily at Draco's forehead. 'It'll be entertaining.'

* * *

'Here,' Ron offered, stabbing at the page with a finger, pausing to furrow his brow but unable to clarify what he was seeing before Harry snatched the paper aggressively away with a slight ripping sound. 'Was there someone else...?'

Ron turned to Harry, and was smacked in the face by a cascade of parchment – he grabbed it to see his friend stumble frantically down the corridor and around the corner, school robes billowing behind him.

He looked back at Malfoy's footprints. And the footprints next to them. Theodore Nott.

Well, shit.

* * *

'Ready, Malfoy?'

'Go fuck yourself, Nott.'

'_Imperio.'_


	13. Chapter 13

**Under the Influence**

**Summary: Harry is out of sorts, and it provides an opportunity Draco didn't even know he needed. HPDM, Post War/'Eighth' Year.**

_Author: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters therein._

* * *

_Chapter Thirteen – Control_

Harry ran into a wall, snarled, and stumbled headlong into another wall.

Draco Draco Draco – he couldn't let him get hurt; Harry couldn't let anyone he loved get hurt, not any more...

* * *

Draco's eyes clouded as he scratched frantically at the table behind him with his stubby nails. Whispering in his head – Nott's voice permeating his mind, sliding in and out of his ears as he bucked and swore and spat at him, and Draco fought desperately to retain control.

Well, wasn't turnabout fucking fair play.

* * *

Harry jerked about like a bird that had just found its wings, flitting to and fro, jerking to hasty stops and making last minute dangerous turns as he repeatedly bruised himself on Hogwart's unforgiving stone walls. He didn't know how he managed it, but he ran into Hermione – a stroke of luck that probably saved his life, as she grabbed his arm moments before he over-balanced and flew down a flight of steep stone stairs.

'Harry, what - ?'

'Nott – 'Mione, fuck he's got Draco let go let go -'

He wrenched free and slid away like he was flying, leaving her open mouthed.

* * *

Draco was pretty certain there was nothing more stomach turning than an Nott's laughter in his head, and he'd hugged the Dark Lord.

Nott shifted around him – the image of Nott swam in his eyes, in his mind. Draco saw the glint of that knife, heard it click to the table behind him, felt Nott's voice run through his ear...

The voice was distorted, echoing and rippling at him through watery depths, easing in between his thoughts, eating at his control. Commands that jerked his limbs and made his eyes water, and his head screamed in pain with the fight. Nott moved backwards and forwards in front of him, and his ebony wand kept disappearing and reappearing in Draco's line of sight. His head was completely overloaded with information, too much input, for a brief second, like his skull was bursting at the seams. His will fought with an unfamiliar pressure – an angry, dirty, unpleasant presence, and then Draco's head rang clear, blank, for a moment – everything greyed out. The pleasant, bleak silence rang out for a few moments, until Draco forgot who he was, or what he was doing. Then the pressure began again, and he desperately tried to remember how to fight it.

* * *

He was nearly there, they were just next to the Charms rooms, he just needed to not fall over like a twat again and he'd be there and he'd find them and he would KILL Nott...

* * *

_Just kill him, Draco, _Nott's mind purred into his, hearing it both with his ears and his thoughts, rumbling over his frantic panting and echoing through the room. Draco jerked and threw himself about, tried to knock Nott over, turn the wand away, rip apart the presence in his mind – he could do it if he just -

Killed Harry.

Yes. He just needed to kill Harry Potter.

* * *

Harry crawled up the last few steps, staggered along the main landing and barely noticed the windows shattering, and the ringing, pealing sound of the shards meeting the floor.

He'd found the corridor. He could feel Nott's protection charms, humming across the frame of one door, right at the end. The sparks of energy rang through to the magic that buzzed at the tips of his fingers. The feeling stung him behind the eyes, and his chest felt tight, like his lungs were full to bursting and he was under too much pressure. His mind flamed and sang.

He reached out a hand, and the wood of the frame splintered.

* * *

Ron ran bodily into his girlfriend before he realised she was there.

'Er – hi – Harry...'

'He just flew past,' she bit her lip, still thrown. 'What -?'

'He thinks Nott has Malfoy. He'd been charmed again, with the drunk thing - '

'Oh, no,' Hermione moaned, and grabbed his arm. 'We should -'

'Yeah,' Ron agreed, and they ran.

* * *

'It'll be easy,' Nott was purring, and Draco was nodding, dazed, relaxing as his wrists were partially unbound, absently noting that they stung less now, when the door gave an almighty cracking sound.

They both jumped, and stared at it for a moment, watching the thick wood groan and separate, spitting out spikes of wood, an ancient coat of paint clouding out in flakes and fluttering like snow to the cold floor.

Nott jerked, and immediately aimed his wand at Draco's temple. 'I suppose that'll be your boyfriend now,' he hissed, irritated. 'She didn't do a good job. Oh well. Showtime.'

Draco frowned. Something was nagging at him, something burning from the very back of his mind, like an itch. He swung his head from side to side, scrunching up his eyes, even though his hands seemed to claw and strain against him, wanting to reach out and grab – something, he didn't know what – and the itch burned harsher when he resisted. He ignored it. It didn't matter. He had his orders.

* * *

Harry sneered at the door. Nott might not be very good at breaking charms, but he cast them strong enough. He stood a moment, feeling the blood race through his body, crackling, burning magic pulsing up and down his limbs with his heartbeat, biting at his fingers and toes and trying to escape. It surged up through his heart, excited and frustrated, and sang out through his mind.

Harry heaved in a deep breath. He braced his heels against the stone, set his hands to the aging door, and threw his magic at it, purging out the force in his body, pushing it forward like it was dangerous; like he was hurling fire with his bare hands.

He smirked when the oak panel divided cleanly in two.

The sound of the door rendering itself in half sang out through the room, and Nott flinched hugely, scraping himself back behind Draco for protection. He gritted his teeth, and pressed his wand tip with more force into Draco's forehead. 'Don't know how to knock, Potter?'

Draco tilted his head, confused, until he saw Harry's face through the lightning bolt shaped crack in the wood. The look of intense anger, laced through with worry, caused the itchiness of his mind to flare – it built up like a wave, to right behind his eyelids – before receding to nothing. It was him - kill Potter. He had to kill Potter.

Harry growled, then threw his weight into the wood, once then twice, until it buckled and separated, throwing him into the room. He caught himself on the shattered door frame, and gave Nott a glare that could kill.

'Let. Him. Go.'

He moved unsteadily to grab Draco – who was giving him a distant, concussed look – and halted when Nott's wand arced to point at him, with a little flourish added for effect. Nott bore a slimy, grotesque smirk, gazing out at him from behind Draco's prone form.

'If I must. Perhaps I should level the field, first.'

The wand jerked, and Harry's own clattered to the floor beyond him, quickly summoned into Nott's palm before even Harry's seeker reflexes could reach it. 'I'll be off, then,' he smiled, giving one last flick towards Draco, who changed slowly in posture and began to rub his wrists in relief. 'Do enjoy.'

Harry began to move towards Draco, one arm outstretched and one against the wall to support his wobbly stance, when the warning jerk was repeated. Harry hissed. 'What do you mean, you'll be off?'

'No point in using a scapegoat if I'm here for the crime,' Nott drawled, grinning now, sauntering towards the door as if Harry was less of a threat than a stray pet. Harry glared, confused, moving across to block the way.

'You're not going anywhere,' he bit, though the room still spun and he wasn't sure on his feet. He felt magic build in his blood again, tingling its way up and down his arms, crackling in his ears. 'Don't fucking move.'

'What are you going to do, Potter,' Nott laughed, leering down his nose, 'without a wand?'

Harry looked at that face, then at Draco's; Draco's face, bleeding and red and purple, and his eyes milky and unfocused, and Nott had done all that.

Harry reached out a hand. Nott laughed, forcing a low snigger, chuckling until it choked in his throat; and then he flew, sailing back thirty feet across the room, colliding with an ugly noise with the wall, slumping to the floor.

* * *

'He's on this floor,' Ron's voice was urgent. 'He's in the same room as them.'

'Let's hope he doesn't do anything stupid.'

* * *

Harry felt the blood rush through his head, and he stumbled, landing hard on his knees, panting. He retched a few times, and then his head suddenly cleared, like all the fuzziness had been wiped away.

He felt a cold hand on his shoulder, and looked at it – it was cracked along the knuckles, bloody; and underneath a familiar pale, imperial skin that could only belong to one person.

He caught Draco's gaze, standing over him, and nearly retched again. Draco's face had been sliced across, a freely bleeding line cut into flesh across one sharp cheek and sloping up over the bridge of his nose. At some point he'd rubbed at it, and the blood had smeared across his jaw as well as dripped copiously on his white shirt.

'Are you okay?' They asked in unison, and Draco smiled derisively, but Harry looked terrified, stumbling up to stand and grasp the other boy by the jaw.

'What did he do?'

'Same old,' Draco drawled, wincing as Harry dabbed at the wound with a sleeve. Harry made a face and gave up, summoning his wand effortlessly from Nott's unconscious body and casting a healing charm.

'I – fuck, this is my fault.'

'I rather believe he deserves credit,' Draco sighed, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

'But – I should have got him chucked out, I -', Harry rubbed at his eyes, smudging Draco's blood across his forehead. Something silver caught his eye. 'Is that the knife?'

Draco didn't look. That knife – Nott had been very specific about his instruction regarding that knife, and Harry, and what Draco should do with it. That didn't matter now; he could forget it. Draco retrieved his own wand and cast a body bind at Nott for good measure. 'Probably.'

Harry stared at it, and paced. 'Did he -?'

There was a muted shuffling, and they both froze.

'Harry?' Hermione and Ron peered sheepishly through the shattered doorway. 'Um, you alright, mate?'

Draco raised an eyebrow – you apparently had to get saviours as a set – and Harry pulled an unreadable face. 'Yeah, um. Could you maybe, um, help?'

Hermione was immediately by his side, wand diligently in hand. 'What do you need?'

'I think Draco needs to go to the Infirmary, and I – well, I guess I need to tell McGonagall I nearly killed Nott,' Harry gestured at the slumped form with a sheepish look. 'Could you stay here and watch him?'

Both of the new arrivals nodded, and Draco absently considered how routine this situation was to them. Probably very.

'Okay, um, thanks,' Harry said, and Draco was being pulled gently out through the ruined door.

* * *

Harry tried to ease soundlessly into the Infirmary, grasping his cloak tightly around his shoulders.

Nott was gone. The headmistress worked fast – Nott had been arrested within ten minutes of Harry dropping a protesting Draco off with Pomfrey and going to report his encounter to her. Ten minutes and they'd both watched a belligerent, swearing student pulled away through a flare of floo powder by a pair of huge, no nonsense Aurors, Ron and Hermione watching on awkwardly and McGonagall's face heavy.

Harry knew how she felt. If he hadn't seen those memories of Riddle – the idea that another student could be so ruthless was almost beyond him. He wished it wasn't 'almost'.

Draco was lying on a bed closest to the grand, open windows of the Infirmary, that faced out onto the rolling hills and distant structure of the Quidditch pitch that occupied the west of the school grounds. The gentle moonlight illuminated the unmoving sheets of the only bed in use.

Harry shuffled closer, keeping an open ear out for an angry Pomfrey. His attempts at quiet mustn't have been quiet enough, or else Draco hadn't been sleeping, because as he approached a sharp shoulder turned over in the bedclothes and a sharp, aristocratic face was lit by the moon.

'Hullo,' Harry whispered, drawing back the cloak and slumping gently down in an awaiting chair.

Draco made a face at him, and the faint red line that remained of the cut on his cheek moved with the gesture. Harry surveyed the potion bottles still in place on the bedside table, and frowned in recognition. The cut certainly wasn't the worst injury by far – Harry had taken the same potions for broken ribs and serious bleeding after more vicious Quidditch matches. Draco saw the frown, and smiled. 'I'm fine.'

Harry frowned even harder. 'You weren't.'

Draco flapped a hand under the sheet. 'Is he gone?'

'Yeah. We – erm, we have to testify at his trial, though.'

'Luckily, I'm aware of how that works,' Draco drawled, but quietly, and slumped onto his back, staring up at the high ceiling. 'What fun.'

'Draco -'

'It wasn't your fault, Potty.'

Harry pouted at the nickname, but shuffled closer. 'If I had -'

'If you'd what, followed me around all day? How exceptionally annoying that would be,' Draco smirked, reaching out to touch his hand and soften the blow of the insult. 'I chose not to turn him in. I paid for the mistake.'

Harry agreed it was a mistake, but wisely didn't say anything. 'I'm glad you're okay,' he mumbled.

'I wasn't worried about you for one moment,' Draco told the ceiling. 'That poor door.'

Harry shrugged. 'It was in the way, so it got what it deserved.' Draco smiled again, and turned his chin to consider him.

'I'm cold.' He whined, and Harry laughed. 'Make yourself useful.'

Harry dutifully toed off his shoes and slid onto the bed. They lay quietly for a while, Draco patiently accepting being drawn in under Harry's chin, resting his forehead against a collarbone and soothed by a thumb drawing rhythmically across his unwounded cheek. Soon Harry's breathing softened, and Draco felt his muscles slowly relax into sleep. He tilted his head up and backwards, considering the other boy's face.

That knife. So long as he didn't ask about that knife, and why Nott had untied him, they'd be fine. Draco – he just didn't want to think about it.

He didn't want to have to explain to Harry that he'd felt the overwhelming urge to grab that knife, and plunge it into his chest, and to wet his fingers on his thick blood, as it flowed and flowed from him, and kiss his eyelids closed, watching the life drain away.

Some things were better left alone.

* * *

And I still have some plot to get out there! Sorry for the long wait, and I really want to thank all of you who have put up with my random updates and kept reading. I try to make it worth it :)

Please review, and thanks for reading x


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